The lost son
by Rose de Sharon
Summary: Summary: AU, set in Season 8. Fed up by his co-workers' attitude towards him, McGee accepts a perilous six-month mission in Afghanistan. His absence finally opens the eyes of Team Gibbs, but will it be too late? NOMINATED for The Fanatic Fanfics Multifandom Awards in the Favorite Complete Fanfic category!
1. A decision

**The lost son**

by

Rose de Sharon

**Disclaimer: **All recognizable characters belong to the owners of the NCIS TV show.

**Author's notes: **

- English is not my native language and I don't have a beta-reader so all mistakes are mine.

- This is my first attempt at an NCIS story. Please be nice!

- "The Watcher" is a character from Marvel comics.

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><p><strong>Chapter 1:<strong> **A decision**

Special Agent Tim McGee was seated at his desk at the deserted NCIS' bullpen, which wasn't a surprising sight in itself: the young man often did overtime work, not because he was a procrastinator; quite the contrary, he was highly conscientious and, on top of working on current affairs, he loved to search through cold cases in the hopes his computer skills would allow him to find the missing clue that would unmask the perpetrators who had thought for too long that they had gotten away with it. And doing this kind of research was easier when the phones were quiet and everyone had gone home, including his boss and his teammates.

Tonight, however, McGee wasn't working cold cases but on a special project and he was getting close to finish it. Unknowingly to Leroy Jethro Gibbs, his boss, McGee had been contacted several weeks ago by General Stephenson, Head of Operations of the US Army Forces stationed in Afghanistan; the General had asked for his help in the elaboration of a computer program to increase the safety of American soldiers stationed patrolling in remote provinces. The main idea was to create a device that would detect landmines buried on dirt road to protect Hummers and thus foil the enemy's ambush plans.

McGee had been a bit surprised by General Stephenson making a personal call at his house, late in the evening; he was, first and foremost, an NCIS agent: why would he be asked to design a detection device? But General Stephenson – a tall, grave-looking man with a world-weary gaze – had talked about their own engineers hitting a dead end and _"a pair of fresh, young eyes"_ could succeed where others have failed. The General had also explained him meeting Admiral McGee, Tim's father, at a meeting held at the Department of the Navy.

This piece of information had made the young man feel very uneasy; Tim wasn't exactly on speaking terms with the Admiral, who never missed an occasion to complain publicly about _"his disappointment of a son"_ working at NCIS instead of joining the Navy like six generations of McGee have done in the past. But General Stephenson had smiled before saying that, in the downpour of Admiral McGee's ravings, he had let out about Tim earning a Bachelor of Science degree in biomedical engineering from Johns Hopkins University and a Master of Science degree in computer forensics from MIT, all this before reaching his twenty-fourth birthday.

"_And I don't think this kind of degrees are delivered to dunces, Agent McGee,"_ had said Stephenson, _"especially not so young. Your father may be oblivious to your intelligence, but rest assured a lot of us bigwigs are not. NCIS isn't a closed world, Directors talk among each other, echoes of conversation can be heard as high as the Department of Defense or the White House."_

Stephenson had let Tim some time to think about his proposal; right after the General had left his house, McGee had called Leon Vance, Director of NCIS, to ask for his advice. The young man had been a bit self-conscious about calling so late but Vance had accepted his apologies straightaway – unlike Gibbs, he wasn't insensible to politeness – and had asked what the matter was. After Tim had explained the whole story, Vance had made discreet inquiries and, the next day, he had called McGee back to give him his authorization. Of course, since Stephenson's request concerned the security of troops deployed overseas, McGee wasn't allowed to talk about it to his co-workers and his boss.

"_Not that it would have done any good," _thought the young man somberly._ "Talking about the project would have earned me Tony's mockeries, Ziva's embarrassment and Abby would have bombarded me with questions, regardless of me being sworn to silence. And Gibbs would have hit the roof, yelling at me for working for someone else than him and how it would slow down the resolution of cases."_

Tim McGee had always felt the odd man out of the team, in spite of having worked at NCIS for almost seven years. He had proved his worth in innumerable situations, both out in the field and by his computing skills, obtaining classified information that proved to be of invaluable help in the solving of cases – including cracking in ultra-protected sites. Never late for work, always delivering his reports on time, constantly providing help and support, loyal to a fault, McGee could exemplify the model NCIS agent (according to Director Vance). But, no matter how hard he tried, the young man didn't seem to earn the same amount of respect from his boss, Team Leader Gibbs, and his co-workers. In spite of having greatly matured over the years he felt constantly overlooked, a consequence of his lack of military or police training.

McGee sighed and shook his head; who was he kidding, of course he was overlooked! Senior Agent Tony DiNozzo had been a cop in Baltimore; Agent Ziva David, born and raised in Israel, had been a Mossad officer; two highly trained persons, able to face any kind of situation and to use physical force whenever it was required. McGee had followed a thorough physical and firing training at NCIS and yet, he couldn't pretend reaching his teammates' skills level and Tony never missed an occasion to rub his face in the dirt about it. As for Forensics expert Abby Sciuto, she was Gibbs' favorite and woe to the one who would forget it! Tim had loved Abby but her whimsical nature had ended their relationship, leaving behind a heartbroken young man. Abby, however, would too often use Tim's feelings to obtain whatever she wanted, uncaring if her shenanigans would put her former lover in trouble with Gibbs.

That last part was the most painful for McGee; he admired Gibbs a lot and would have given the Earth to obtain his respect, but this wish seemed to be doomed for the very beginning. Gibbs loathed computers, didn't understand a thing about technology and simply couldn't comprehend Tim's technical prowess in the numeric world. For Gibbs, computers were enigmas and their handlers – including McGee – mere tools at his belt to help him solve cases. Tim would have accepted his fifth wheel status within the team if, at least, Gibbs and the others would have expressed concern whenever he had been hurt on the job. Unfortunately, it hadn't happened; no matter how many times Tim had been shot at, tazered, mauled by a dog, beaten up or preyed upon, his teammates had always reacted with sarcasms and Gibbs with indifference. The young man had been left alone to deal with his wounds, all this in the name of _"beating the softness out of him"_ according to Tony. The Senior Agent apparently wasn't aware that nobody had died and named him Drill Sergeant.

Tim sighed again, and then he checked his computer screen: the program he had designed (nicknamed "The Watcher") for General Stephenson was indeed working perfectly but it needed a real application on Hummers. Tim had already built a casing for the Watcher to fix it on his Porsche's bumper, and then he had drove through town as a test, but there was a far cry between a sports car running on smooth tarmac and an army vehicle on a bumpy dirt road…

"Agent McGee?"

Tim's heart jumped in his throat as he saw Director Vance standing right in front of his desk. The young man had been so caught up in his thoughts he hadn't heard the man coming.

"Oh! I'm sorry, Director, I haven't realized you were still at here," said Tim, rising of his chair out of deference to his immediate superior.

"Paperwork never ends and isn't that a sad fact!" grumbled the dark-skinned man, his usual toothpick stuck in the corner of his mouth. "But your presence surprised me as well; I thought I was the only soul left in the office. Are you still working on Gibbs' cases?"

"Er… No, Sir; I was making the last checks on the computer program for General Stephenson."

"Ah, The Watcher!" said Vance with a half-smile. Trust this smart agent, video games aficionado and fiction writer to give the name of a comic book character to a program designed to protect soldiers. "So it is alive and working?"

"Yes, Sir, it's going smoothly but there are still the practical sides to be developed. I'd to run The Watcher in the same conditions it would do in Afghanistan in order to be sure it would work at its full potential."

"You need to test it on the field," stated Vance.

"That's right, Sir, but I can hardly think a place nearby D.C. would do the trick. Desert country would be good, like Arizona or Oklahoma, but it implies taking a leave of absence and I am not sure that… Agent Gibbs would allow it."

Tim hoped the man hadn't noted the hesitation in his voice. A quick roll of the tongue made Vance's toothpick change of side, and then the Agency Director casually sat on a corner of McGee's desk, much to the young man's astonishment: never had he seen Vance acting so casual!

"McGee, The Watcher is needed to protect our troops in Afghanistan. I don't have to remind you of last week's attack, where a Hummer had exploded after it had hit a land mine and the enemies gunning down the rare survivors. If your program can help moving vehicles in detecting mines, it will be a huge asset in the war. Soldiers' lives preserved, enemies detected before they would strike... Gosh, the possibilities are endless but we are running out of time; The Watcher must be tried in real overseas conditions."

Tim's green eyes widened slightly at those words. Surely, the Director didn't mean..?

"Yes, McGee, you have to go to Afghanistan and work on your program there. You'll also have to improve the casing with whatever materials can be found on the scene. I'm not going to lie to you, Agent McGee: this mission will be perilous and likely to last for a minimum of six months. Are you ready to go?"

Tim never hesitated: "Yes, Sir. I'll be happy if my knowledge and experience will be useful to our troops."

Vance had a sad smile. He knew the young agent was courageous and wouldn't cower in fear at the thought of being sent overseas, in one of the world's worst war zones. Of course, General Stephenson had assured of his entire cooperation and McGee would be in good hands. But he was also the most brilliant mind of NCIS and his computer expertise will be solely missed in solving cases.

And there was also the matter of Agent Gibbs...

"I appreciate you volunteering for this mission, McGee. All details have been arranged with General Stephenson; you will be leaving for Kabul at the end of the week; it will give you time to put your affairs in order."

"Thank you, Sir, but what about Gibbs? Surely he won't be happy with me leaving for six months..."

"You leave Gibbs to me. He will rant and rave as usual, but your orders have been approved by both the highest military authorities and General Stephenson. Gibbs will have nothing to say for that matter and I will make it clear he is not to give you a hard time. In spite of what he thinks, he doesn't own you – you are a Federal Agent, you obey to superior authorities and that's final! How about you, do you have any second thoughts about leaving your family and your team?"

Vance's obsidian-colored eyes met his agent's emeralds, but the young man never faltered.

"No, Sir. I'm not on speaking terms with my parents, since my father never approved of me joining NCIS. My sister Sarah just got her first teaching job and she is entirely focused on writing her first book. As for my team, I sincerely doubt they would miss me," said Tim with a hint of bitterness.

"That's surprising, considering you have worked with those persons for eight years!"

"Please Sir; I don't have to remind you I'm only the computer geek of Team Gibbs. Geeks are easily replaceable; any guy from Cyber Crimes can crack codes, find classified information or track vehicles via their GPS transponder."

"None of them are faster than you are, Agent McGee," pointed out the Director. "And your knowledge of the numeric world is unbeatable."

"Well, maybe, but the people of Cyber Crimes are very good at their jobs, Sir. I am sure you will find a valuable replacement among them."

"But will they be patient enough to endure Gibbs' less-than-amiable attitude, or DiNozzo's ridiculous jokes and jibes?"

McGee lowered his gaze to the floor; the answer to this question was "No". For all their professional qualities, Gibbs and DiNozzo were particularly difficult to deal with in normal life. Gibbs was an ex-Marine and he was also rude, impatient, authoritarian and inconsiderate. As for DiNozzo, his police training gave him – or so he thought – license to constantly ridicule people with academic background. McGee, with two degrees under his belt, had thus become DiNozzo's favorite target. Lots of people at NCIS had often asked over the years how the young agent had managed to endure his boss and colleague's attitude while the Cyber Crimes' members had protested to the previous Director, Jenny Sheppard, about the names of _"geek"_,_ "weakling" _or_ "coward"_ DiNozzo had loudly and abundantly called McGee all over the bullpen. For the Cyber Crimes gang, this attitude was a blatant discrimination towards intellectuals but Director Sheppard, an old flame of Gibbs, had paid no heed to these protests.

"I don't know, Sir," answered Tim frankly.

"Neither do I, but the Watcher takes absolutely top priority so your replacement will just have to take a leaf out of your patience's book. Go home, McGee, and start packing. Also, you'll have to get a complete medical check-up and get some shots. I will talk to Gibbs first thing in the morning; of course, he will yell his head off at the news but then again, maybe he'll appreciate you a lot better when you are back?" said Vance.

McGee couldn't share the Director's optimism; too many times Gibbs had unjustly punished him for Abby's antics; too many times Tim had been the butt of Tony's cruel jokes and put-downs; too many times he had found primordial clues for cases just to be relegated back to the shadows, his work being considered "insignificant" compared to Ziva's knife-throwing prowess, Tony's brashness and Abby's scientific knowledge. The truth was, he couldn't trust his teammates any longer. They functioned pretty well out on the field but apart from that, McGee had ceased to believe he would ever be considered as a friend and trustworthy partner. He had showed an impeccable facade for years, a mask of cordiality to hide the fact he had been suffering from their callousness.

Well, enough was enough. This mission in Afghanistan would be a welcome change and Tim McGee would help saving lives, a goal fitting his chivalrous nature. General Stephenson seemed to appreciate his work, Director Vance had approved the mission and McGee trusted his Director's judgment.

The low man of Team Gibbs' totem pole was walking away; no doubt the sculpted column would tumble and fall, but Tim had reached the point he didn't care about it any longer.

TBC...


	2. A reaction

**Disclaimer**: same as Chapter 1.

**Author's notes: **

- Wow! Thank you so much to the marvelous people who put this story on their Favorite and Alert lists!

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><p><strong>Chapter 2:<strong> **A reaction**

"You WHAT?"

"Agent Gibbs!"

"WHAT?"

"Agent Gibbs, could you put your trademark rudeness on hold and actually listen to me?" asked an irritated Director Vance.

"LEON, YOU CAN'T BE SERIOUS!"

"Quite the contrary, I **am** serious!"

The reaction of Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs had been just what Vance had predicted the evening before, during his talk with McGee: outcry, roars, furious glances and half-listened explanations, while the older man's body language betrayed an urge to spring out of the Director's office, fly down the stairs and grab a certain youngster by the throat before strangling him. Gibbs had all the patience of a boiling tea kettle and, while it was an advantage for interrogating suspects, it had prevented him from rising through the hierarchy since the words _"diplomacy"_, _"tact"_ or _"psychology"_ were completely alien to his vocabulary. All the other NCIS agents, from the oldest Team Leaders to the brand-new Probationers, called Gibbs _"The dragon"_ behind his back and Vance inwardly thought the man was doing a really good imitation of the legendary animal in his office, minus the flames. Thank God for small favors…

"You can't take McGee off my team!"

"Gibbs…"

"HE'S MINE!"

Vance frowned at those words; the conversation was going to take an ugly turn but this Special Agent needed an urgent wake-up call, otherwise he wouldn't keep his job for very long.

"Do I have to remind you slavery has been officially abolished in the United States on December 6, 1865? McGee isn't **yours**, Gibbs; he doesn't belong to you; he is not a property for you to decide wherever he should do or not. He's a federal agent working for the government and thus, if this said government tells him to go to Afghanistan and work there to improve the security of our troops, then he goes to Afghanistan and improves the security of our troops!"

"But I've hired him!"

"No, Gibbs. You made a recommendation for him to be engaged in the NCIS but it was the HR Department who had the final word in hiring McGee."

"Leon, he's not an engineer, for crying out loud! He's a computer tech!"

"ENOUGH, GIBBS!" roared the Director, slamming his fist on his desk. "For the first time of your life you are going to shut that oversized mouth of yours and listen to what I have to say!"

A stunned silence followed Vance's words. Gibbs, a tall man with salt-and-pepper hair and unblinking ice-blue eyes, wasn't used to be ordered about. An ex-Marine and Team Leader, widowed once and divorced thrice, he certainly had his share of losses – unfortunately, those hardships had also given him a badass attitude and he abundantly displayed it in both at work and in everyday life. Vance couldn't fault his efficiency since his team had the best solving crime-solving rate of NCIS, but success and Gibbs' bull-head had also earned him a lot of animosity among the office. In fact, he had been close to lose his position more than once after he had deliberately disregarded security procedures in order to retrieve clues – a fact that had made Vance jump on his seat more than once after reading the reports. He had been especially scandalized after Gibbs had ordered McGee to enter a pool of mosquito-infested water instead of waiting for the HAZMAT team, regardless of the young agent's safety.

Vance had read the riot act to Gibbs afterwards, calling him a fool wearing blinkers, and reminding him Agent McGee could have been infected by malaria, a potentially fatal disease, all this because the impatient Team Leader had been more worried about a clue for a murder than for his agent's health. Gibbs had tried to shrug it off, stating the case had been solved and it was all what mattered but Vance had warned him he would lose his badge on the spot if he ever played with the life of his agents like this.

This incident was still fresh in his mind when the Director said, in an icy voice:

"Agent McGee has been asked for his help by General Stephenson weeks ago, to work on a project which could become an asset in the Afghanistan war. McGee immediately told me about it and, after a thorough inquiry, I gave him my approval. I also ordered him to not talk about this to anyone on his team, including you – so don't you dare to heap insults on him for keeping you on the dark, McGee has obeyed **my** direct orders. He has been working on General Stephenson's project during his spare time, namely on evenings and weekends – so, here again, don't start accusing him for being distracted in his job, you and I know better. Finally, McGee's idea was to experiment his program in desert-like conditions, like Arizona or Oklahoma, but time is a factor and our troops need his input; General Stephenson asked for his presence in Afghanistan and I said yes – especially after that latest incident where a Hummer had been destroyed by a land mine, leaving no survivors. Therefore, as **Director** of this agency, I asked Agent McGee if he felt ready to go in a war zone and he accepted right away, which tells a lot about his commitment towards our country. And he's way more than a computer tech, if you had ever bothered to find out!"

"I refuse to let him go, Leon," said Gibbs between gritted teeth.

"This is not your calling, Gibbs. McGee is expected in Afghanistan in five days. He's probably tidying up his work computer as we speak, and I gave him the rest of the week to pack his things and say good-bye to his family – provided, of course, they are interested in his whereabouts but it doesn't seem to be the case. Then again, some people are such idiots they don't realize they've been granted a blessing until it's too late!"

The innuendo wasn't lost on Gibbs, but pride stopped him from making amends. He was a strong believer in one of his own mottos, _"Apologizing is a sign of weakness"_ and he would be damned to Hell before he would admit out loud to his Director that he hadn't appreciated McGee's talents to their own true worth. Right now, Gibbs was furious at his agent, at Vance but, most of all, at himself; he should have seen it coming! Tim McGee was way too intelligent and talented, it had been a matter of time before someone from another government agency would step up and offer the young man a better job, where he wouldn't be constantly scolded by his boss or ridiculed by his teammates. But Gibbs wouldn't have imagined it would be an Army General who would come up and snatch his genius, not in a million years!

"How are we going to work, during McGee's absence? His computer knowledge is invaluable in solving cases!"

"Does it, now?" asked Vance with a mocking smile. "I didn't think you'd give any credit to intellectual work, especially not McGee's."

"Leon!" roared Gibbs, looking ready to explode.

"Anyway, your team will work on cold cases and archives until I will assign you a new computer tech. But I have to warn you, Gibbs: it will take some time. You see, the people in Cyber Crimes are way too aware of your attitude towards the learned… so finding a volunteer won't be easy. Not everyone in Cyber Crimes is gifted with McGee's patience, or maybe they are simply more concerned by self-preservation and I refuse to give you a newbie for you and DiNozzo to chew out at your heart's contents."

"You are putting us all on the substitutes' bench?"

"So, you are finally starting to realize what an asset McGee is to your team, Gibbs? Too bad you have to learn it the hard way but then again, according to you there is no other way in life, right? Now, McGee will be leaving for Afghanistan on Sunday: drill this fact through that thick head of yours and don't give the kid a hard time during his last days on American soil, got it?"

Gibbs exited the Director's off with a last roar, slamming the door behind him so hard it nearly tore off the hinges. Pamela Cook, Vance's assistant, nearly ducked under her desk after seeing the Team Leader's furious face: he looked like a madman on a murdering rampage! She let out a sigh of relief as the man walked down the stairs, towards the bull pen, but she inwardly felt sorry for the poor young agent who was going to be racked over the coals anytime soon.

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><p>Gibbs was so mad he could barely see straight, and the scene deployed before him did nothing to improve his mood: McGee was typing his fingers away on his keyboard, an intense look of concentration on his face while DiNozzo was nonchalantly seated, his feet prompted on his desk and talking his head off about the marvelous time he had last night with his latest girlfriend. Ziva, as usual, seemed torn between laughing at Tony's antics and trying to work but what made Gibbs frown deeper were the unsubtle comments his Senior Agent was making about McGee's life outside work, loud enough for the whole bullpen to hear:<p>

"Tamara is a real American cheeseburger, I'm telling you: Barbie doll legs, natural blonde hair and breasts huge like grapefruits. She should be registered as a national resource! Then again, you wouldn't know about it, would you, McVirgin? The only girls you see are the ones you meet on-line with your elf lord games!"

"Hunh?" replied Tim distractedly. Obviously, he hadn't heard a word Tony was saying.

"What's the matter, Probie? I've been talking about a superb creature for the past ten minutes and you haven't reacted! Oh, I get it: you're so lonely you don't even remember what a girl is! Sounds like I'll have to make your sex education, otherwise you'll die a perfect idiot. Why, in a few years you'll be able to apply for the sequel of _"The forty-year-old virgin"_."

"Tony, that's enough!" said Ziva. The young Israeli woman had dove-like eyes, delicate features and a slim silhouette but she was also very proficient with hand-to-hand combat. Men who had been fooled by her looks hadn't lived long enough to regret it and right now, she felt DiNozzo had been overstepping his bounds, a dangerous situation.

"Aw, c'mon, Zee, lighten up! As Senior Field Agent, it is my duty to teach McLonesome the facts of life since no one has ever bothered to do it. He hadn't scored with a girl during his university days, can you believe it? When I asked him why, he just replied: _"I was studying"_. How lame is that? I mean, universities are filled with frat girls lining up to lose their flower and the idiot just stood still as a dummy! Boy, during my time at Ohio State University, I haven't wasted time in pleasing the ladies. Tony DiNozzo, a.k.a. _"The Italian Stallion"_ is at your service, just like in the movie with Sylvester Stallone."

"It's a wonder you haven't ended up gelded by a jealous boyfriend or an angry father, but then again you would have been perfect for the main character in a movie about eunuchs," said Ziva.

That last statement brought out a light chuckle from Tim (even if he hadn't raised his eyes from his computer screen) and it angered Tony; he wasn't used to be the brunt of jokes as he felt it was an insult to his manhood.

"Laugh all you want, McJealous but at least I have a sex life, which is more than you can say. I give up on the idea of arranging a date for you; you'd probably bore the poor girl to death…"

***TWACK***

"Ouch! Hi, Boss," said Tony while rubbing his scalp. He had just received one of Gibbs' trademark head-slaps but the Team Leader had hit him harder than usual this time.

"Can it, DiNozzo, I'm not in the mood for your stupidities today. McGee, I've just had a meeting with Vance. You have nothing to tell me?"

The young man briefly closed his eyes and sighed; no doubts Hurricane Gibbs had recently ravaged the Director's office but, for all its howling and roaring, it had failed to topple over "Stone-like" Vance, meaning the typhoon had moved from upstairs to the bull pen and a downpour of rain would fall on McGee's head… Well, it was to be expected but it wouldn't sap his determination in going to Afghanistan.

Tim locked his emeralds on Gibbs' sapphires and answered firmly: "No, Boss."

Tony and Ziva gasped in surprise: nobody refused anything to the Team Leader unless having a death wish! Gibbs let out a growl, making him look like a rabid lion, and then he roared:

"CONFERENCE ROOM! NOW!"

And, without waiting for an answer, he walked out of the bull pen, paying no attention to the other agents looking at him with rounded eyes. McGee sighed again, and then he saved his work on his computer before standing up. He turned about to follow Gibbs but Tony grabbed his arm:

"What's going on, Probie?"

"Let go, Tony," said Tim, freeing his arm with an impatient movement. The simple action floored the Senior Agent since this kind of attitude wasn't customary to McGee.

"What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing, apart you make us late for our meeting with Gibbs. He told us to go to the conference room and we all know he detests waiting."

"That doesn't answer my question!"

"We should go, Tony," said Tim.

Ziva, more perceptive than DiNozzo, was getting worried; Tim wasn't answering to Tony's gibes and questions, Gibbs was clearly mad at him and Director Vance was looking down at them from the upper floor, his face set in granite. Whatever had happened earlier in the Director's office between Gibbs and Vance certainly hadn't been pleasant, and the young woman understood that somehow, it involved Tim.

"No, you tell me, McGeek!" hissed Tony. "I wanna know what's going on in these funny brains of yours and…"

_*TWACK*_

"Ow!"

"Put a sock on it, Tony!" said Ziva.

"Zee, who told you that you can head-slap your Senior Agent?" grumbled DiNozzo.

"Don't try to pull rank on me, Tony. Right now, you're acting like a jackass! Gibbs wants us in the conference room, meaning he has something important to tell us and you're wasting time trying to earthworm information out of McGee."

"It's _"worm"_ information out of somebody, Ziva," corrected Tim with a small smile. The ex-Mossad had improved her English quite a lot over the years – thanks to McGee's patient tutelage – but she still had a bit of trouble with idioms.

"Whatever! And for your information, Director Vance is watching us from above and you two are making a poor show of professionalism."

Tony and Tim turned around and, indeed, Vance was looking at them hawk-like and it was quite unnerving. DiNozzo suddenly felt his throat getting tighter under his tie; he knew the Director didn't approve of him, his jokes and his nosey behavior and he wasn't keen on giving his superior more reasons to complain about him. He coughed loudly and said in a would-be leader tone:

"Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go!"

DiNozzo strode out of the bullpen with what he believed to be the step of a Roman emperor. Ziva rolled her eyes heavenwards: Tony wouldn't have impressed a three-year old! She glanced at her teammate: Tim was still looking at Vance, and then he nodded in the direction of the Director, who answered the same way.

Ziva noted this silent exchange, but said nothing.

TBC…


	3. An explosion

**Disclaimer**: same as Chapter 1.

**Author's notes: **

- Thank you to all my marvelous reviewers. Unfortunately, the presence of a "troll" has forced me to disable the "Anonymous review" function since I refuse to let my story become a platform for hurling abuse. However, I would like to thank Milli, Camry72, None, Maylee, Dutchgirl, Anon, 1701bg, Ila, Zipper and Fanfic Fan for their kind words. Also, a big _"Thank you"_ to Prairiecitygirl for having spotted the mistake about Tony's education: it has been corrected! ;-)

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><p><strong>Chapter 3:<strong> **An explosion**

The conference room's door slammed loudly and the eyes of the three Team Gibbs members were looking anxiously, interrogatingly or expectantly at their leader, depending on which orbits they belonged. Their leader was pacing back and forth the room, looking more and more like a caged lion or, worse, like a enraged dragon after its whole hoard had been stolen by audacious thieves. Ziva lowered herself in one of the comfortable seats; Tim did the same but Tony chose to remain standing up: experience had taught him that when the Boss was crossed, it was always better to stay at the same height level than Gibbs'.

And the Boss was obviously furious; whatever had happened in the Director's office, it certainly hadn't been good. Maybe Vance was breaking up the team again? Tony inwardly groaned at the thought: last time, he had earned a long trip aboard the USS _Ronald Reagan_ and he had hated every second of it. The sailors had been completely hermetic to his jokes and movie quotes and they had implicitly asked him to _"keep his big copper-mouth shut, or else"_! Poor Ziva hadn't faired any better since she had to pack her things and go back to Israel, heartbroken by the termination of her Mossad liaison status. Of course, McGee had gotten the best part out of it, being reassigned to his former Cyber Crime division with a comfortable desk awaiting him and thousands of programs to play with. What a skiver!

"I have received some news from Director Vance that I don't like, not one bit!" shouted Gibbs, pulling Tony out of his reverie. "But orders came from the upper levels of DC and I can't do anything against it."

"What orders? Are we getting breaking up again?" asked Tony, voicing out his worst fear.

"In a sense, yes, we are, DiNozzo! Our team won't work with its usual efficiency for the next six months but apparently, our crime-solving rate isn't impressive enough to stop some high-ranking people from stepping in and take what they want!" growled Gibbs, his blue eyes fixed on McGee.

Ziva was looking back and forth her boss and her teammate, getting more and more worried by the minute. Tim had paled a bit but his gaze has remained steady and his calm demeanor was making a sharp contrast against Gibbs' anger and Tony's growing anxiousness. The young woman's heart skipped a beat at the thought McGee may have asked for a transfer: the relationship between him and DiNozzo hadn't been too good these past weeks; Gibbs had been brusque to the computer tech and, even though it was expected behavior, it didn't mean it was unimportant; as for Abby, she had recently made an awful fuss because Tim had refused to attend a punk rock concert with her – the lab rat had taken McGee's participation for granted, as usual, and she had been quite crossed after being told a firm _"NO"_ by her ex-lover. Abby had sulked like a teenager for a week afterwards, forcing Tony and Ziva to go down the basement and get forensics results since Abby had refused Tim's presence in her lair.

"So, McGee? Will you grace us with an explanation, or do I have to send for Vance and ask him to be your interpreter?" asked Gibbs harshly.

Tony and Ziva turned rounded eyes towards their co-worker, who got out of his chair slowly and said:

"No Boss, it won't be necessary. Guys," said McGee while facing Tony and Ziva, "since you must be wondering what's going on, I won't let the suspense prolong any further. I have been assigned to a special mission; I leave for Kandahar on Sunday for a six-month period of time, depending on the results of a project. I can't tell you what it is about, as I've been sworn to secrecy so it is useless to pry information out of me."

"WHAT!" exclaimed Ziva.

"YOU CAN'T BE SERIOUS!" thundered Tony.

"That's exactly what I've told Vance, but unfortunately he's not in the mood for jokes," said Gibbs, his voice sounding like he was grinding rocks between his teeth. He glared furiously at McGee before shouting: "WHATEVER POSSESSED YOU TO BETRAY YOUR TEAM FOR THIS WILD GOOSE CHASE, YOU FOOL?"

Tim's eyes flashed in anger, his honest nature revolted by Gibbs' accusations. Being called a fool was one thing, but being labeled a traitor was another!

"I didn't betray you or the team, Gibbs. Months ago, I have been approached for a project that could prove to be vital to our troops stationed in Afghanistan. My expertise in computer programming was asked to help to preserve our soldiers' lives and who I am to refuse? Besides Director Vance granted his permission since I knew you would raise objections but, and at the risk of offending you, important things are at stake and I couldn't afford to waste time. I've worked on this project day and night during my spare time and no, it is **not** a wild goose chase. Now, I didn't expect being sent to Kandahar but a lot of people are waiting for results out there so I accepted to go and give a hand; thus, there is nothing reprehensive about my actions."

"But... C'mon, Probie, wake up! You can't go to Afghanistan; you are barely able to look after yourself!"

"Thank you very much for your confidence in my abilities as a field agent, Tony," answered a sarcastic computer tech. "If I ever need a sponsor, you can be sure I'll call you first."

"That's not what I meant! Well... Yes, maybe it was what I meant, but I didn't want it to sound like this...," spluttered Tony before receiving another hard head-slap from Gibbs.

"Ouch! Twice in a row, Boss, it's a bit too much!"

"Have you ever considered stopping this business about talking without thinking, DiNozzo?" roared the grey-haired man.

"C'mon, Boss! This is only a huge joke, right? Probie wandering in Afghanistan, but it can only lead to disaster! He's seasick, full of allergies and phobias; he can't possibly consider going into a war zone, for God's sakes!"

"Afghanistan is a desert country so the odds of being seasick are very low, Tony," countered Ziva. "In case you haven't noticed because you were too busy talking our ears off with movies, Tim had made enormous progresses over the years in mastering his phobias. And allergies had never stopped anyone from being a good soldier."

"What, you approve of him leaving us?"

"I am not happy about my **friend** going to a dangerous country, but I cannot blame him for his dedication to duty," answered the Israeli woman firmly. "As his colleagues, we should help him to prepare for his journey instead of criticizing him."

Tony turned his furious face towards McGee, who didn't budge from his spot.

"Dare I ask why you haven't told me anything about this, McSecretive? We are supposed to be partners and yet, you keep me in the dark like a smelly old sock in a locker's room!"

"What part of _"Sworn to secrecy"_ don't you understand, Tony? Or maybe you think it doesn't apply to you?" replied the green-eyed man.

"I wouldn't have told a thing to anyone, not even Gibbs! You can trust me!"

"Actually, I can't."

A stunned silence followed McGee's calm but sorrowful declaration. Tony opened his mouth and forgot to close it; Ziva got on her feet as well, in prevision of an imminent confrontation; as for Gibbs, the frown deepened to the point his eyebrows were getting mixed with his eyelashes.

"W-What?" managed to stutter DiNozzo.

"I can't trust you, Tony. Anytime I told you something of a personal level, you never missed an occasion to turn it into a joke or a prank meant to ridicule me. I haven't forgotten your calumnies about me being gay so I wouldn't be a competition for courting the ladies in NCIS. It worked beautifully, by the way: it took me two years before I could have a date and I narrowly escaped three gay-bashings in the Yard. I had been kidding myself thinking I would earn a bit of respect but no matter how hard I worked, it was constantly dismissed as negligible compared to the show-off, loudmouthed and all-around wonderful Tony DiNozzo. Remember the nicknames? McVirgin, McWeak, McCoward and the likes? How can you possibly think I could trust a man who constantly slanders me in the bullpen or right in front of witnesses during a case? If you think your actions have no consequences then you are gravely mistaken! And, last but not the least, there is also the fact you outmaneuvered me over a mission in Iraq: you told me applying for it would make me "too eager" and I fell for it because I stupidly thought at the time you and I were starting to become friends. And then, lo and behold, the mission is granted to you, making me look like a complete fool in front of Director Vance. You lied to me, Tony; you _**deliberately**_ _**lied**_ to me!"

Ziva was following the exchange with an astonished look upon her face; she hadn't been aware about this Iraqi business and she could hardly believe Tony would have acted so dishonestly towards a teammate.

"But it was for your own good, Probie! You weren't ready to go to Iraq, and..."

"Cut the hypocritical crap, Tony!" shouted Tim in an unfamiliar burst of anger. "The concerned act really doesn't suit you. You wanted to give your career a boost and you ignored Gibbs' number one rule: _"Never screw your partner"_. Then again, this rule doesn't apply to McNaive since he's not your partner but your personal dope!"

"That's not true!"

"Yes it is, but you know what? I didn't care about it any longer. Not even after we have gotten Ziva out of Somalia; I knew it would be a matter of time before you would start boasting about and you certainly didn't disappoint me with your shouting from the rooftops that you have saved Ziva all by yourself while my participation has been limited to, and I quote, _"lying around"_ – getting the life beaten out of me but like I've said, it was insignificant compared to your heroic actions. Oh, by the way, you also conveniently forgot to mention Gibbs shooting down Saleem and the guards so we could escape but who cares about these small details, right?"

"Probie..."

"Trusting you is like trying to walk on quicksand, Tony; once the illusion of firmness is over, all what's left is a suffocating trap. I suppose I can expect you to watch my back in the field, since the death of an agent on duty would raise too many embarrassing questions with Director Vance but aside from that, no, I have absolutely no trust in you. You're an opportunist, Tony; you betray friends at a moment's notice for a chance to prove the rest of the world that you're a Super Agent _à la_ James Bond. But the world doesn't give a damn about your image! All people see is an insecure, immature man who constantly cheats and walks over people, all this because he's terrified of competition. And now you have the nerve to say I should have told you about this secret project in Afghanistan? But I damn well know what would have happened next: you would have ratted to Gibbs just before yelling all over the bullpen about this hilarious idea of me going to a war zone despite the fact that I am a good-for-nothing geek, according to your standards!"

It was Tony's turn to pale; never, not even in his wildest nightmares, had he though McGee would tell him off in front of Gibbs and Ziva! It felt like watching a _Twilight Zone_ episode but, for once, the TV reference didn't help him in finding an answer to defuse the situation. Tim sighed, and then he looked around at his teammates and said:

"I hoped against all odds that I would leave for Kandahar with your blessings and approval but, once again, I've been kidding myself. I am sorry you are taking this so hard, but I've given my word – and I never broke it in my life - that I will work on this project and nothing, not even your wrath, will prevent me to do so. I'm sorry about this situation, though, but it can't be helped."

Tim turned to leave the conference room but the hard voice of Team Leader Leroy Jethro Gibbs stopped him on his tracks:

"That's all, McGee? You have nothing to say about amputating the team, leaving us without a computer tech to help us solving cases?"

"Gibbs!" hissed a scandalized Ziva in warning, but her superior ignored her.

"So that's all what matters to you, Boss? Your crime-solving rate? Oh well, I should have guessed." replied McGee with a resigned tone.

"But..."

"I am certain Director Vance have told you he would find a substitute during my time abroad, Boss. The Cyber Crimes division has some great guys amongst them and they are quite capable in obtaining valuable information for cases so you'll have all the numeric support you need. I will leave detailed instructions before leaving and all the electronic files on my computer will be in order."

"I don't want a substitute, McGee; I want you to stay in DC and work for me!"

Tim's eyes turned into unforgiving emeralds: "Not this time, Boss. Other people besides you have self-respect and reputations, even the ones without military or police training. You're an ex-Marine so I thought you, of all people, would understand my reasoning but it's not going to happen, isn't it?"

"I understand, McGee!" said an exasperated Gibbs. "I understand it completely, but..."

"No, you don't. If it had been Tony or Ziva, you wouldn't put up such a fuss because you trust them out on the field. It isn't the same with me and, no matter how much I've increased my confidence over the years, you keep on seeing me as a stuttering rookie good enough to find data on the Net but has to remain under close surveillance at all times, because he's so clumsy he would spill coffee all over your desk. I'm a tool for you, just like the ones you have in your basement to build boats, but that's it: only a mere tool to be used and then discarded once the need is over. Well, you don't have to worry: the tool will be back once the Afghanistan project will be done. Just think of me as being sent to the knife grinder for a sharpening that will last six months or so, and you won't know the difference."

"SO THAT'S WHAT YOU THINK YOU ARE TO ME? A _**TOOL**_?", roared Gibbs, nearly suffocating out of indignation.

"Well, I know what I am not: golden boy, favorite or adopted child. At least, I am useful for cases so the only option left for me was "tool". I couldn't consider a "pet" status because even a domestic animal wouldn't be yelled at all day long and besides, there are limits to everything, including insults."

Those last words were said with such sadness it nearly broke Ziva's heart. She casted a furious glance at Gibbs and Tony but the two men, their eyes glued to McGee, remained oblivious of her.

"I'm sorry you think I've betrayed you, Boss, in spite of having told you what had happened without breaking my oath," concluded Tim. "But, as usual, you've only listened to what you've wanted to hear. You don't give a damn about the importance of this project; all you can see is a disruption of your universe and I know I will pay a high price for wanting to help our troops but I won't back off because you happen to shout louder than everyone else. If it's any consolation for you, this time you have a valuable reason to be mad at me for something I've **really** done, and not because Abby has disobeyed a direct order and left me holding the bag. I am truly a multipurpose tool!"

And with a half-laugh, half-sob sound, Tim McGee left the conference room, leaving behind a stunned Senior Agent, a furious ex-Mossad officer and a seething Team Leader to their own thoughts.

TBC...


	4. A confrontation

**Disclaimer**: same as Chapter 1.

**Author's notes: **

- The poem is from English lyrical poet Sir Thomas Wyatt the Elder (1503–1542), named _Innocentia_ _Veritas Viat Fides,_ _Circumdederunt_ _me inimici mei _(1536).

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><p><strong>Chapter 4:<strong> **A confrontation**

A heavy silence reigned on the conference's room after McGee's exit. Ziva was inwardly fuming from what she had heard about Tony spreading dangerous, false rumors about Tim's sexuality. How could Tony be so callous towards his co-worker? Not only it could have cost Tim dearly – he mentioned having escaped three aggressions related to this stupid calumny – but the young man could have had his future impended by narrow-minded people in high places, who would have relegated Tim to minor positions for the rest of his career. And, speaking of which, never Ziva would have imagined Tony deliberately outmaneuvering Tim for a mission; that was a dirty trick if the Israeli woman had ever seen one, and unworthy of a man priding himself being Senior Agent!

Ziva also felt remorse from the fact she had laughed alongside Tony after he had played a joke on McGee – she honestly thought it was good-natured, a kind of frat friendship where boys constantly tease one another as an expression of affection. She had seen a lot of these during her time at Mossad and, even though she had never quite understood it (she thought it a "guys'" thing), she figured it was better to play along. Besides, as a stranger on a strange land, Ziva had been surprised more than once by American customs and DiNozzo's behavior at work was been odd, to say the least, but she had thought it a different way to deal with stress. Tim's outburst was the proof she had been mistaken: the jokes, pranks and names-calling may had been "locker room humor" for Tony but for McGee, it was a daily ordeal.

The young woman glared at DiNozzo, who looked away; he was in hot waters, not only with Gibbs but also with Ziva and it didn't bode well as she was known for her efficient interrogating techniques. Inwardly, he felt upset since he had never thought, not for a second, that McGee would throw old matters back to his face! But as usual, Tony had overlooked the consequences of his actions. After McGee had arrived at NCIS, DiNozzo had felt a surge of panic at the thought of this polite, handsome and intelligent young probationer shadowing him in the dating competition. Fearing for his vanity, Tony had taken action and the name-calling had started, fueled by the fact Tim took everything in stride. Sure, McGee paid him back in his own coin with a few pranks of his own but the computer tech had neither gossiped about Tony's sexuality nor betrayed him for a career-boost mission.

Tony sighed loudly and rubbed a hand over his face; he remembered Somalia, after he and McGee had been captured by Saleem, Ziva's torturer. Tony had been tied to a chair and injected repetitively with Pentothal while his partner was lying unconscious on the dirty floor, receiving a vicious kick from Saleem each time DiNozzo's answers hadn't suited him and it had happened often! Tony had described McGee to Saleem as: _"Small muscles, big brains, heart of a lion"_ but only because modern pharmacopeia had loosened his tongue; otherwise the Senior Agent would never have admitted McGee's qualities out loud. After Saleem had been neutralized, Tony had instantly returned to his loudmouth self and Tim's contributions had been reduced to a lousy joke.

Gosh, what had he done? Tim was the most loyal, brilliant and patient man he had ever met, the partner any cop would dream to have by his/her side; but everyone had a breaking point and McGee's had reached his with his typical way – quietly, suffering in silence, not wanting to make waves because Tim forgave, but he didn't forget. And then, this Afghanistan project led by an anonymous bigwig had burst in his life, giving him a sense of being appreciated, something his teammates had never bothered to do.

"Boss?" asked Tony, at a loss of what to say or to do.

"Shut it, DiNozzo," said Gibbs with a low growl.

"Boss, please! How are we going to convince him to stay in DC?" pleaded Tony.

"There is nothing we can do. Orders came from the Pentagon and, unless you want to be tried for treason, you are going to let McGee go and let himself being killed in Afghanistan."

"Why would he be "fatally" killed out there?" protested Ziva. "Because you think he's not good enough?"

"Darn it, David! I never said that!"

"Well, you certainly didn't say otherwise and the heart of the problem lays here, Gibbs!"

The Team Leader turned his ice-like eyes towards the ex-Mossad for one of his infamous glares, but to her credit Ziva didn't bat an eyelid. This silent resistance widened the crack Gibbs had sustained in his pride a moment ago in Vance's office. The fact was, the whole situation was his fault; he could count on the fingers of one hand the times he had praised McGee for his work – and the young man had been a NCIS agent for eight years. However, the number of times he had turned a deaf ear to Tony's jibes towards the computer tech was _ad infinitum_; not to forget when Tim had endured Gibbs' wrath for things completely out of his control: Abby's refusal to follow safety instructions, DiNozzo's undeniable talent to irate witnesses, clues for murder cases being too well-hidden in the numeric world… Gibbs had steadfastly ignored Tim's attempts to enlighten him, weighing the young man down with unfair statements about not having done his job properly... and even punishing him a few times for Abby's disobedience.

For Gibbs, the only things that mattered were results and he didn't give a damn about the rest, acting more like the Drill Sergeant from Hell than a Team Leader. It had worked beautifully for Tony, whose attention span matched a three-year-old, and for Ziva, accustomed to military cadence. Abby's digressions were automatically forgotten since she had replaced Gibbs' murdered daughter. But where did that left McGee? Nowhere, since his boss hadn't deigned to notice the young man's talents, taking for granted Tim would stay forever just for the honor of being under the command of the great Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

The said Leroy Jethro Gibbs was feeling like head-slapping himself so hard his teeth would rattle. Whatever possessed him to treat McGee like a soldier? The kid was a civilian, for God's sakes, he had never been trained at a police academy or a boot camp! Gibbs knew his ex-Marine behavior was barely tolerable in normal life and he was quite aware of the nicknames running through the bullpen regarding him: _"Dragon"_,_ "Old Bastard"_ oreven_ "Gibbs-I-am-God-himself"_. He usually never paid attention to scuttlebutt but this time, he would have to weather quite a storm at NCIS after the news his computer genius would face the talibans for six months to take a break from Gibbs and Co.

Well, nothing could be done about it; the cat was out of the bag and some people were going to get thoroughly scratched.

"Ziva, go to the morgue and ask Ducky what kind of medical check-up McGee had to do before hopping on the plane. DiNozzo, go to the lab and inform Abby about the situation: I'd rather have her learning it from you than from a babble-mouth downstairs."

"That's all?" protested Tony. "You are not going to do anything to prevent McGee from leaving?"

"No, I'm not and I won't. Everybody has to obey orders, Tony – even if this concept is alien to you. McGee has made his choices and he must assume them."

"You sound like he had committed a major offense, Gibbs!" said Ziva.

"That's enough, David! Right now, I'm going to have another chat with Vance about McGee's protection in Afghanistan. He had been very scarce about details but I'll be damned before I let McGee wander right in a war zone without knowing his exact whereabouts or who his commanding officer will be!"

* * *

><p>Tim was at his desk, cleaning up the last of his computer files. He hadn't uttered a word since the stormy meeting but, then again, there wasn't anybody around to talk to. His teammates hadn't returned from the conference's room yet; only Gibbs had showed up to make a beeline to Director Vance's office, never sparing a glance to his youngest agent – ignoring the tiny light of hope shining in Tim's emeralds just before dying out of disappointment once again. McGee had sighed before returning to his work; so far, his participation to an important project abroad had won him anger, incredulity and a total opposition: tough day at the office.<p>

Out of nowhere, the first stanza of a poem by Sir Thomas Wyatt came to his mind:

_Who list his wealth and ease retain,_

_Himself let him unknown contain._

_Press not too fast in at that gate_

_Where the return stands by disdain,_

_For sure, _circa Regna tonat _(__"It thunders through the realms")_

Yes, the thunder had erupted in NCIS...

A soft "ding" preceded the opening of the elevator's door; a furious female voice vociferated: **"McGEE!"**

... And obviously, the foul weather was going to worsen.

The young man raised his eyes from his computer screen in resignation: indeed, the angry woman was Abby Sciuto, Forensics specialist and number-one fan of the Goth culture, proven by her unusual apparel – skull-captioned t-shirt, mini-skirt, jewelry including neck chokers, anklets and dozens of rings. She was two inches taller than her usual height thanks to platform boots and her heavy black make-up enhanced the spider-web tattoo she sported on her neck. She and McGee had had a romantic relationship but many things had torn them apart, among them Abby's fear of commitments, bulldozing through other people's feelings and stubbornness, making her act more like a spoiled child than a scientist in charge of a Federal agency's laboratory.

And, judging from the furious look on her face, Abby had been informed about Tim's imminent departure: for sure, _circa Regna tonat__._

"Yes, Abby?" asked McGee with a calm voice, deliberately ignoring the stupefied faces of the other agents working in the bullpen. Conversations had died and ringing phones were left unanswered as all NCIS members had their eyes riveted on the scene displayed in front of them.

"**WHAT IN THE WORLD DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?"** yelled the Goth, making her dark pigtails fly in every direction. McGee didn't recall having seen her so furious, not even at the time she had been mad at him for shooting a drugged German shepherd in self-defense, and then compelled him to adopt the dog as expiation for his crime. Abby had baptized the animal _"Jethro"_ in honor of the Team Leader and she had even forbid McGee to change its name.

"I'm leaving the USA for six months on a mission, Abby. This is all what I'm doing."

"THIS IS ALL WHAT YOU'RE DOING? HOW DARE YOU SAY THAT?"

"Abby, it's important. I'm working on a project..."

"TO HELL WITH YOUR PROJECT! YOU CAN'T LEAVE!"

"It's only for six months, Abby; not forever."

"I CAN'T BELIEVE IT! YOU ARE THE MOST SELFISH MAN I'VE EVER SEEN! HOW CAN YOU DO THIS TO GIBBS AND THE TEAM? AND TO ME? AND TO _**HIM**_? OH, BUT YOU DON'T CARE ABOUT _**HIM**_, OF COURSE! ALL WHAT MATTERS TO YOU IS YOUR STUPID CAREER!"

This last statement made Tim frown; he was getting to what Abby was implying and he didn't like it one last bit.

"I am not going on vacation, Abby. I'm leaving for Afghanistan. Now, if you'll excuse me..."

But the very agitated scientist wasn't ready to drop the matter. She raised her right hand with a growl of anger, visibly getting ready to strike at McGee but the slam of the staircase's door, followed by an out-of-breath Special Agent Tony DiNozzo flying through the bullpen like a cannonball to grab Abby firmly by the wrist, putting an abrupt end to an upcoming brawl.

"Abby! What on Earth!"

"LET GO, TONY!"

"No, I won't! Are you out of your mind?" replied DiNozzo, barely recovering for what he had witnessed. "I go downstairs to tell you about Probie's departure and you scream like a banshee before slamming the elevator's door to my face; and now you wanna slap McGee?"

"LET GO OF ME!" screamed Abby.

"It's okay, Tony; let her go, otherwise you'll be in trouble with Gibbs," said Tim.

Abby yanked her wrist off Tony's hold and stood in anger in front of McGee, shaking so hard it looked like she had abused one time too many of her favorite drink, the ultra-caffeinated 'Caf-Pow' she drank endlessly at her lab.

"YOU'RE A DISGUSTING MAN, McGEE AND I NEVER WANNA SEE YOU AGAIN! YOU CAN GO TO AFGHANISTAN AND ROT THERE FOR ALL I CARE; AFTER WHAT YOU'VE DONE, YOU DON'T DESERVE ANYTHING GOOD ON THIS EARTH!"

"Abby!" protested Tony.

"And what have I done, precisely?" asked Tim, his voice soft but firm at the same time.

"YOU'VE ABANDONED HIM! YOU'RE LEAVING HIM BEHIND SO YOU CAN BOOST YOUR CAREER!"

"Who?"

"**JETHRO!"**

A stunned silence fell on the bullpen. Tony looked completely dumbfounded, standing agape behind the Goth fury who had proffered such an absurd accusation. Everybody around was looking with rounded eyes and the sound of a pin dropping on the room's carpet could have been heard like the crack of a rifle shot. McGee, however, seemed to remain calm in spite of the sorrow slowly veiling his eyes.

"I am not abandoning him; he's my dog, remember?"

"BUT YOU LEAVE FOR SIX MONTHS! WHO'S GOING TO TAKE CARE OF HIM?" screamed Abby at the top of her lungs.

"That's the only thing you're worried about? A _dog_?" exclaimed an indignant voice nearby the elevator.

"HE'S NOT JUST A DOG, HE'S JETHRO!" screeched Abby without bothering to look at the interferer. "AND McGEE WILL HAVE HIM LOCKED UP IN A KENNEL; HE'LL BE MISTREATED! HE'LL DIE IN THERE! HOW CAN YOU DO SUCH A TERRIBLE THING TO THAT INNOCENT ANIMAL?"

Tim rose to his feet, fed up by the Goth's rants. He had already been labeled a traitor by Gibbs and an incompetent by Tony; the last thing he needed was being accused of animal cruelty by his former lover.

"For your information, Abby, my dog will be perfectly fine during my absence. I've never said or had the intention to put him in a kennel, you simply jumped at the wrong conclusion. A friend of mine has agreed to take him at his house; Andy loves dogs, he has a garden and he's a jogging-addict so Jet will have all the exercise he needs. I've already paid for his food and I gave Andy the vet's number in case of emergencies. No doubts Jet will miss me but then again, something tells me he'll be the only one!"

It was Abby's turn to remain agape, her fury deflating like a tire after a fatal encounter with sharp nails. The blind rage she had felt out of worry for the dog's well-being had dissipated like mist under the morning sun and she was suddenly aware of the glares she was receiving not only from Tony, but from the other NCIS agents – not to mention their comments, in the lines of _"Unbelievable"_, _"What a jerk"_, _"Inconsiderate Goth scarecrow"_, which were getting louder by the second. Abby's nervousness increased, especially after she realized the person who had interfered earlier had been Ziva, accompanied by Doctor Donald "Ducky" Mallard, Chief Medical Examiner of the NCIS. The ex-Mossad officer was obviously furious and the Scottish-born doctor was looking straight at Abby with a disappointed look upon his face, a rarity since the man was renowned for his good-natured character.

Abby made a final protest just for the principle of it, but her squeaking voice made her attempt sound quite pitiful:

"His name is Jethro, not Jet..."

"He's my dog and I call him whatever I want. You lost all rights over Jet the day you forced me to adopt him, regardless from the fact he had nearly torn open my throat."

"But..."

"Go back to your lab, Abby. You've already made a perfect fool out of yourself so try to not worsen the situation any further. And don't try to barge in at my flat; you are not welcomed here any longer."

"Timmy..."

"Please don't, Abby. You made your feelings pretty clear when Jet attacked me; I've been nothing to you but a back-up plan, somebody you could date and have sex with after your latest boyfriend dumped you or got busted for drug possession, whichever came first. But you showed your true colors after you've read me the riot act for defending my life from an eighty-pound dog drugged up to the ears. My heart also got mauled on that day but you've never cared about that particular organ in the first place, have you? Then you invented this _"My best friend is Tim McGee"_ line just to humor me but your recent Humane Society Drama Queen act has proved, once again, that you care more for this dog than for me so there goes my hope of us parting in good terms before I leave."

"Tim..."

"Bottom line, the only thing I regret is having wasted time thinking you would eventually treat me like a human being instead of your doormat. I'm sorry, Abby, but it's over. You'll have to find another computer tech to exploit, yell at or take the blame in your stead whenever you don't feel like following basic safety instructions. However, I've already told Gibbs the other guys at the Cyber Crimes Department are not as patient as I am so here's a word of advice: you may consider putting your whims on "hold" for the next six months because being Gibbs' favorite won't always save your bacon."

Tim felt a wave of tiredness washing over him; he was getting exasperated from having to defend his decision come Hell or high waters and it wasn't the best state of mind to organize his electronic files. Since Director Vance had given him the rest of the week off to prepare for his journey, he might as well go home, start packing and make a few phone calls. He would go back at NCIS in the evening, after everybody had gone and the bullpen was quiet, to finish cleaning up his computer. At least, he would leave a spotless desk for his substitute… or his successor, depending of the outcomes of his mission.

McGee grabbed his jacket, his backpack and headed for the elevator, but not before adding a last parting shot to the Forensics expert:

"By the way, this mission in Afghanistan will be difficult and dangerous; thank you for not asking."

McGee pressed a button and the elevator's doors opened immediately. The young man stepped inside the cabin, too lost in a haze of pain to notice Ziva's and Ducky's appalled looks or the figures of Vance and Gibbs standing on the bullpen's mezzanine; however, just before the doors closed, he heard the voice of Director Vance shouting loud enough for the world to hear:

"Miss Sciuto! My office, _**now**_!"

Tim closed his eyes and sank against the cabin's wall; no, this day definitively couldn't have gotten any worse. As on cue, the ghost of Sir Thomas Wyatt whispered inside the young man's brains:

_The high mountains are blasted oft_

_When the low valley is mild and soft._

_Fortune with Health stands at debate_

_The fall is grievous from aloft._

_And sure, _circa Regna tonat_._

TBC...


	5. A consolation and a retribution

**Disclaimer**: same as Chapter 1.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 5:<strong> **A consolation and a retribution**

Tim McGee slammed his apartment's door behind him before sitting down on the floor with a sigh, his back supported by one of the hallway's walls. Did it ever felt good to be home! After the violent attack he had endured from his colleagues and Abby making a scene right in the middle of the bullpen, he desperately carved for some peace and quiet. He needed to keep a clear mind to prepare for the trip to Kandahar and thinking over and over again about his teammates' outraged comments certainly would befuddle him. The young man knew he had to prepare his bags thoroughly as the littlest omission could have grave consequences: he couldn't afford to forget an accessory for his laptop or a document for the program, since Afghanistan wasn't a country renowned for having hundreds of computer stores in each town. He would also have to stock up on allergy medication as he couldn't bother the army doctors if a crisis ever occurred. He would have to select and pack his most neutral-looking clothes to remain inconspicuous because he didn't know if he would be allowed to wear a uniform...

The list of tasks to do before leaving was quite long and a lesser man would have felt overwhelmed at the thought of doing so many things in a few days. However, Tim was an Admiral's son and he had been trained since childhood to pack quickly and efficiently every time the McGee family had to move after his father had been transferred to a new base. And the project was too important to let his mind being clouded by the angry reactions of his teammates. Tim had expected sarcasms from Tony and he certainly hadn't been disappointed; Abby's outrage had been hard, but endurable. However, Gibbs' hostility had been more than Tim could have bear, as he had desperately dreamed the older man would have appreciated, at least, his helpful spirit towards US troops stationed abroad. But, once again, Tim's hopes had been crushed beneath Gibbs' heel. When would he ever learn?

A soft pitter-patter of paws on the floor preceded the arrival of an eighty-pound, muscular and enthusiastic German shepherd, which greeted his master with a loud bark followed by an abundant licking of face. Tim smiled under the wet greetings of his dog; Jet had placed both his front legs on the young man's shoulders and his tail was waving back and forth like a demented fan. At least, someone who was genuinely happy to see him!

"Hi, Jet!" said Tim. The dog kept on licking him all over as if he were a stamp.

"I'm happy to see you too, buddy. Did you behave this morning? You didn't bit Mike on the butt, now, did you?"

A soft growl answered Tim's questions, which was Jet's way to say he didn't give a damn about his walker's recriminations. Mike preferred small dogs and an animal the size of Jet was a constant source of complains, but the economic crisis prevented the dog walker to be too finicky on his choice of customers. Tim grabbed both sides of Jet's head and stroke the black-and-gold fur, making the dog lick his face with renewed ardor.

"Well, I can't blame you, Jet. Cranky humans are difficult to deal with – and God knows, I have my share of this at the office! I had a tough day at work and this is the reason why I am home early, in case you're wondering."

Jet stopped his greetings to lie down on the floor and place his head gently on Tim's lap, as if the animal actually understood every word his master was saying and tried to console him with his presence. McGee scratched Jet behind the ears and started retelling the events that had occurred at the NCIS office earlier in the morning:

"I had to announce to Gibbs and the others my departure for Afghanistan, Jet. And, as you have already guessed, it has been a bumpy ride. Vance told Gibbs about me leaving and he was absolutely furious. I didn't have to wait for long before Gibbs called for a meeting at the conference room with Tony, Ziva and me. He was too pissed to tell what was happening so I had to break the news to Tony and Ziva. Tony laughed before it got through that thick head of his it wasn't a joke, and then he denigrated my abilities, as usual. Ziva... Well, she reacted better; she said she wasn't happy about me leaving but she understood me wanting to help our troops in Afghanistan. She's ex-Mossad, after all; she knows about having to leave the comforts of home for a mission."

Tim sighed deeply, making the German shepherd raise his brown eyes towards his favorite human.

"Gibbs... He was livid with rage, but not because the team's routine will be disrupted. No, it's because he doesn't believe I can actually accomplish this mission, Jet! He thinks I am "doomed" to fail and I should stay in DC and work for him since it is the only thing I am good at. Gosh, Gibbs is such a control freak! He never listened to a word I've said, buddy; he refused to hear my reasons for leaving. He called me a traitor because I didn't tell him beforehand about the mission and an idiot for going to a war zone – well, he didn't say those exact words, but he didn't have to. His infamous glare betrayed him more than a thousand words."

Tim absently ran his fingers on the dog's long muzzle. Jet didn't move a muscle: he knew it was a sign his master was troubled and needed comfort.

"I kind of hoped Gibbs would understand my reasons, because he's ex-Marine and he knows the importance of supporting our troops, but I've been fooling myself. Gibbs would have approved of this initiative if it had been coming from Tony or Ziva; but, since it came from me, it could "only" be a bad idea. He's mad at me because he would have to deal with another computer tech during my absence; he's furious because I haven't told him about Afghanistan in spite of being sworn to secrecy; and he has a third reason to hate my guts, since this project has caused Abby to be in trouble."

Jet let out a low whine, as if the dog had been asking a question.

"Yeah, there's that, too; after Abby had been told of the mission, she ran straight to the bullpen and gave me the lecture of a lifetime because she wrongly thought I would have you locked up in a kennel. She accused me of everything under the sun, pal! She called me a selfish, disgusting man, an animal killer and she said she didn't care if I got killed in Afghanistan. She thought only about you, buddy, and she didn't even have a decent word for me! God, how could I have been so stupid? I've spent years thinking she would love me again once she'd realize we were made for each other, but here again I've been fooling myself. The truth is, she doesn't want me; sure, I'm requisitioned whenever she can't find someone to accompany her to a rock concert or when her toilets leak in the middle of the night, but otherwise she couldn't care less about my feelings towards her. It's like the cartoon image of a carrot being dandled in front of a donkey to make it walk, you see? But in my case, I was more a jackass being lured by false testimonies of affection."

Jet gently nibbled at Tim's fingers, a genuine proof of friendship.

"And, of course, everyone in the bullpen heard Abby's rants and raves, including Director Vance. Just before I left, I heard him calling Abby in his office. But I'm no dupe: even if Vance yells at Abby, in the end she'll only get a little slap on the wrist. She has Gibbs as her champion, so who can take disciplinary actions against her? She has total immunity! You can bet a bowl of dog food that Gibbs will blame me for the whole situation. I never asked Abby to make a fool out of herself in public but that's not the kind of detail he's interested in. Remember Mawher? Abby was explicitly ordered to NOT open the door, and yet she had to go and open it as soon as my back was turned. And Gibbs punished me for **her** disobedience! I had to work on my knees for a week because he didn't think I deserved an office chair, since it had been my "incompetence" that had almost got her killed! But how in the world was I supposed to know she would actually do something so harebrained? She's supposed to be a scientist, for God's sakes!"

Jet, sensing Tim's growing agitation, lifted his head and licked his master under the chin, making the young man's smile.

"Thank you, pal. You know what? You may be the only creature in this world who accepts me for who I am so I'll be damned before even thinking to abandon you. Six months will be long, I know, but you'll be fine at Andy's – you remember him, don't you? The work-at-home accountant who wears off a pair of jogging shoes every week? You'll love your stay at his place; besides, I couldn't leave my four-legged friend alone in this flat with only a daily visit from Mike to get some fresh air, could I? You and I had a rocky start, buddy, but I don't blame you for attacking me: you were drugged, neglected and you reacted purely on instinct. No, it has been my teammates' reaction that had disappointed me afterwards... But here again, my feeling were overlooked so I guess I should get used to it, eh?"

A gentle 'yip' was Jet's answer; Tim smiled and then, he got up on his feet. Having a little _tête-à-tête_ with his dog had done a lot of good to his troubled mind; his heart was still in pain, though, but instead of crippling him it gave Tim a burst of energy to focus on his departure. His emerald-colored eyes shone in a renewed light and his full lips were firm in his determination to pursue his project: the young man inwardly swore The Watcher _**would**_ leave for Afghanistan and it _**would**_ help in protecting lives.

"Okay, buddy, I'll treat you for a _Meat-O Jumbo_ marrow bone for being such a good dog, and then I'll start packing. I also need call my doctor to ask for advice about the required shots, and then you and I will go to the park for some exercise. You'll have to spend the evening alone because I have to finish cleaning up my computer at work, but I reckon a _K-9_ cop movie on TV tonight will keep you busy during my absence."

* * *

><p>"This is intolerable, Miss Sciuto!" roared Director Leon Vance.<p>

"But, Sir..."

"_Intolerable!"_

"Please, Sir, I didn't mean to..."

"The Hell you didn't! And I've never witnessed such an obnoxious behavior in all my life! What in the world to you think NCIS is, your very own personal playground?"

Abby was standing in front of Vance's desk and she was getting more panicky by the minute. Right after Tim had left NCIS, she had been asked to go to Vance's office at once and, judging by Vance's tone, it wouldn't have been wise to argue. She hoped Gibbs would have tagged along as her attorney but the Team Leader had been firmly forbidden to enter the Director's office, leaving Abby on her own to deal with the consequences of her outburst.

"I am getting sick and tired by your shenanigans, Miss Sciuto! For years I have tolerated your special elegance, the deafening music in the lab and suffocating displays of affection because of your good forensics results, but you've gone too far. Whatever possessed you to make such a scene in the bullpen, have you gone mad?"

"No, Sir!" said Abby, her eyes brimming with tears. "It is just... I was shocked by hearing Timmy would leave us... And then I thought about Jethro and how he would be alone for months, and..."

"_**Agent McGee**_," retorted Vance, stressing Tim's full title, "is a courageous man with a brilliant mind who has accepted a dangerous mission in a war-zone, in the hopes a very important project will come to fruition. If you had deigned to listen to him, you would have learnt this project is paramount. But instead, you throw a fit in public, make wild accusations and worry only about a dog which isn't even yours. _A dog!_ Does your teammate mean so little to you? Then again, it isn't the first time McGee's life is considered as unimportant!"

"W-What do you mean, Sir?"

"Oh, don't play innocent with me, Miss Sciuto. Everybody in NCIS knows about your revolting actions when the dog Jethro was brought here for examination: you called McGee a murderer, ruined his expensive jacket and forced him to adopt the mutt, otherwise there would be Hell to pay. You were damn lucky Jenny Shepard was Director at the time; otherwise, if you had been under my command, I would have fired you on the spot!"

"B-But Tim shot Jethro..."

"In self-defense, Miss Sciuto. _Self-defense!_ Are you too thick in the brains to comprehend what this word means? Well, it is spelled S-E-L-F-dash-D-E-F-E-N-S-E in case you don't know how to write it and it describes a countermeasure involving defending oneself or another from harm. The dog had its teeth deep into McGee's throat and shoulder: what on Earth was he supposed to do? Letting himself being mauled? Remaining very still on the ground and endure the pain of being mutilated? What if the dog had torn McGee's face to pieces? Have you ever thought of what could have happened to your teammate if he hadn't shot the dog to stop him? Or maybe you would have preferred to see McGee maimed for life, just to spare your feelings!"

"N-No, Sir! It's just... I can't stand violence against animals."

"And **I** can't stand violence against my agents, Miss Sciuto. At the risk of shocking you, I'd rather see a dog being lightly wounded on the leg than McGee lying in a hospital bed, blinded and disfigured. You have been utterly ridiculous and totally unprofessional!"

Abby was shaking in her platform boots; the Director was reading her the riot act, Gibbs wasn't here to defend her and she was running out of ideas of being absolved for this mess. Obviously, Vance wouldn't buy her concern about animals and the comments she had heard in the bullpen earlier had disconcerted her. Never, not even in her worst nightmares, had she imagined she would be blamed for her actions! As Gibbs' favorite, Abby had always thought she would be able to strut around NCIS and do whatever she wanted, since everyone except her was afraid of the ex-Marine. But apparently, resentment about Team Gibbs had been building inside NCIS for years – not only because of their high crime-solving rate but also because of Gibbs' _"Who-cares-about-consequences"_ motto, not only with suspects during a crime investigation but also with co-workers and witnesses.

This philosophy of the rudeness had rubbed off on Tony and Abby, making them perfect Gibbs' heirs. Even Ziva had adopted this tough-as-nail attitude, given her military training and Mossad experience. Only McGee had remained polite in everyday life and it had given Tony another reason to make fun of the young man, basing his jokes and taunts on the fact Tim would be too civil to exert retribution.

"This is the last straw, Miss Sciuto. You may not be aware of it, since you're too immature to foresee the results of your actions, but your spoiled child act had nearly cost you dearly – and I am not talking only about the case of the dog. Remember Mexico?"

Abby swallowed with difficulty. She had been invited to provide a forensic science lecture in Mexico, with McGee as her escort. Enchanted by this opportunity to show off her knowledge to foreign students, Abby had decided she would call the shots during this trip with the approbation of Alejandro Rivera, their contact and her admirer. She had proven to be a handful during the whole stay in Mexico, which had culminated with her deliberately ignoring Tim's warnings and taking her students to a former crime scene located on a land belonging to Paloma Reynosa, drug cartel chief and personal enemy of Gibbs.

"Y-Yes, Sir…"

"To this day, I still haven't figured out what had made you act so recklessly, Miss Sciuto. Taking your students right in a danger zone right in the middle of the Mexican desert, are you actually that stupid?"

"But it was only me, the students and McGee! We were no threat to the Reynosa cartel. They would have gained nothing from killing us!"

"This kind of drug dealers don't give a damn if you are a threat or not. They only see you as intruders before shooting on sight, regardless of age, gender or nationality. Hundreds of people disappear in the Mexican desert every year, Miss Sciuto, and you've been **this** close," said Vance, making a very short space between his thumb and index finger, "to add your name on the Missing Persons' list. A situation which could have been prevented if you had deigned to follow basic safety measures but they don't apply to you, oh no! You are so brilliant, so Gothic and so in favor with Gibbs, hence you are allowed to do anything you want – including endangering your life, your students' and McGee's in the process!"

Abby couldn't stop the tears from falling on her cheeks, ruining her mascara make-up. After Mexico, she had been scolded by Gibbs for her heedlessness; he had told her about human remains found in the desert, formerly belonging to illegal immigrants, drug lords' competitors or unlucky tourists who had happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. But then the Team Leader had hugged Abby before telling her everything was forgotten; McGee, on the other hand, had been racked over the coals by Gibbs, like at each occasion Abby's stubbornness had placed her in danger.

"You and your group had absolutely no reason to be in this old crime scene, Miss Sciuto. The murder you were lecturing about happened years ago so you'll never make me believe you would find new evidences in the desert."

"No, Sir! I just wanted the students to get a real approach of an investigation, and…"

"And it was something you could have done in the security of your classroom, Miss Sciuto! But no, you had to make your whining, selfish act again and force Agent McGee to indulge your whims! And it nearly cost him his life; as I recall, when the cartel's goons were aiming automatic guns on you and your students, Agent McGee immediately stepped up and offered himself as a hostage. He tried to convince Paloma Reynosa a Federal Agent was worth much more than a bunch of students and their obstinate teacher. Have you ever stopped to think what would have happened to him, if Paloma Reynosa had taken up to his offer?"

Abby's face blanched; it would seem the idea had never crossed her mind.

"N-No, Sir…"

"Well, let me enlighten you, Miss Sciuto. Agent McGee would probably had been taken to a remote place, like in the mountains or in the middle of the Mexican desert, to prevent him from escaping – and satellite images wouldn't have given us a hint about his localization. We would have been completely clueless about his whereabouts and the Mexican government powerless to help him. Then, his kidnappers would have beaten him up, tortured and starved him, making him so weak he wouldn't have been able to stand up alone. Paloma Reynosa would have sent us a video showing Agent McGee tied up and bleeding as a proof of life, and she would have had extravagant demands, like asking for vast sums of money to finance her cartel or the liberation of a prisoner from a maximum-security prison. And then, do you know what would have happened?"

"We would have paid and she… She would have freed him?"

"WRONG, Miss Sciuto. Our government's politics are quite clear about this kind of situation: we don't negotiate with terrorists. If the Reynosa cartel had taken Agent McGee, he would have been as good as dead and no one, not even Gibbs, would have been able to save him. We wouldn't have paid a dollar to Paloma Reynosa and Agent McGee is quite aware of this fact. And yet, he was resolute to sacrifice his life if it would have granted you and the students a safe passage back at the university. I would have had to write a letter to Admiral McGee and his wife, telling them their son had been killed by drug traffickers and he was probably resting in a shallow grave, right in the middle of the Mexican desert… or maybe his remains would have been dumped in a pig farm!"

"Oh, please, Sir! Don't say those things!"

"I'm telling the truth, Miss Sciuto!" thundered the Director. "And even though you don't like it, you are going to shut that big mouth of yours! NCIS could have lost a very good agent, one of the rising stars of this agency, simply because he couldn't make you listen to reason. I was resolute in firing you and you've kept your job simply because Gibbs assured me you wouldn't do it again. He even asked me to ban you from the guest lecturers' list because, no matter how blind he is to your flaws, he couldn't bear the thought he would risk losing an agent thanks to your thoughtlessness. This, by the way, is the reason why you haven't been selected to give a lecture in South Africa; the job went to Peterson."

"But Peterson isn't as qualified as I am!" protested Abby in tears.

"Maybe he doesn't have your level in Forensics, but Peterson is reasonable, clever and he follows orders. I have no reticence in granting him an escort because I know he and my agent will both come back alive. Peterson behaves like an adult; unlike you, he doesn't take unnecessary risks!"

Abby remained silent as she swallowed her shame with difficulties. A small part of her brains was whispering that she had seen this coming, and she indeed had been very stupid in Mexico and about Jethro the dog; but her oversized pride adamantly refused to acknowledge she had overreacted earlier in the bullpen and her accusations had been based on false assumptions. Like any over-proud person, Abby simply couldn't admit she had been wrong, even if proofs of the contrary had been showed to her face by Director Vance. Besides, Gibbs had never blamed her for her actions so why would she have bothered with making amends? As long as she remained in Gibbs' good graces, Abby had never considered changing her behavior, no matter how odd or inappropriate it could be so the guilty party could only be McGee: after all, he was the one who had started this whole fiasco by his crazy idea to go to Afghanistan.

Director Vance watched attentively the expression of the Goth woman's face: nope, she wasn't going to admit her wrongdoings. In fact, she looked ready to blame someone else's – ten to one it would be McGee. Talk about having taken a leaf out of Gibbs' book!

"What happened in Mexico isn't my fault, Sir," started to say Abby. "McGee should have warned me better about the dangers of going out in the desert. Instead, he..."

"That's enough, Miss Sciuto. You are suspended for four weeks, without pay. You have one hour to tidy up the lab and leave instructions for Peterson, he's the one who will replace you. I highly recommend you to use this free time to re-consider your actions and think about adopting a better attitude at work, otherwise the sanctions will be severe."

"But, Sir! It's not fair!" protested Abby.

"Fine, then it will be **six** weeks of suspension without pay! Do I need to go on, Miss Sciuto?" asked Vance, his dark eyes turning into obsidian stones.

"N-No, Sir..."

"Good! Now go clean up the lab and remember, you have only one hour before being escorted outside by security so don't you go crying on Gibbs' shoulder about me punishing you unfairly. And you'll be definitively sacked if I ever learn you have pestered Agent McGee before he goes to Afghanistan, do you hear me? Agent McGee is off-limits and he needs to pack his bags in peace!"

"Can't I say good-bye to Timmy before he leaves?" asked Abby with a little voice. "I want him to know I'm still his friend..."

"No, Miss Sciuto. Besides, the exact date and hour of Agent McGee's departure is a need to know, which you don't. It may have escaped your attention but he's involved in an important project and he is currently "on loan" to the Pentagon, meaning his orders will be of classified information. Agent McGee will only answer to two persons, namely me and his commander in Afghanistan. So don't waste his time and mine with your emotional blackmail, it won't work!"

TBC...


	6. A conversation

**Disclaimer**: same as Chapter 1.

**Author's notes: **

- Information about the names "Leroy" and "Jethro" come from Wikipedia.

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><p><strong>Chapter 6:<strong> **A conversation**

The rest of the day had turned out to be uncharacteristically quiet for Tim McGee. He had spent a good part of the morning sorting out his clothes, and then he had made a thorough list of items he would need in Afghanistan before surfing the Net to find out the best shops in town where he could acquire them. He had been a Boy Scout Leader for years so he owned a survival kit (Swiss Army knife, compass, first-aid, pocket lamp) and outdoors' life held no secrets for him, like finding his way at night by looking at the stars, making a fire without matches or catching a fish with his bare hands – even though he still had an issue with identifying poison ivy, much to his dismay. However, life in Afghanistan would be rough and he needed better equipment to face any kind of situation. Tim knew the Army would supply him with everything but_ "Always ready"_ was his motto and it had proved to be very useful, especially when working with Gibbs!

However, the young man had been disappointed after he had tried to contact his family; his parents were on holiday in India and, according to Paulina the maid, they weren't reachable by phone. He had tried to call Sarah several times but only her voicemail had answered him, giving Tim the only option to leave a message after the tone. He was a bit disheartened for not having had the opportunity to talk to his parents and explain his reasons to go to Kandahar, but maybe it had been for the best: Admiral McGee would probably have blown a fuse hearing the news his useless son had been granted a special mission, making him ask who in the world was in charge at the Pentagon, while his mother would have yelled her head off about Tim's causing a disturbance within the family by rebelling against his father's wishes, once again.

McGee loved his parents dearly but they had never truly understood their unusually intelligent son: his passion about computers were simply out of their reach and the young man had often wondered what he would have become without his confidence in his own abilities, which had made him win scholarships at John Hopkins and MIT. As for Sarah, even if she and Tim had been very close in the past, her phone calls had become less frequent over the years – firstly because of her courses at Waverly College and then by the stress of her first teaching job. McGee also had suspected the presence of a boyfriend in his sister's life, which suited him: Sarah needed to forget her disastrous experience after having been accused of murdering a Marine she was involved with.

In the afternoon, Tim and Jet had wandered in the park, playing "fetch" and dozing in the sun. Around 5:00 p.m. they had gotten home and, while Jet was resting in front of the TV, McGee had called for Chinese take-out as he was still a bit wound up by the morning's conflicts to cook. Then he had showered and dressed with an MIT T-shirt and an old pair of sweatpants before sinking in his favorite armchair, Jet lying on the floor next to him so he would get an occasional scratch on the head.

After a few minutes, the German shepherd raised his ears and growled softly in alarm; then he got on his feet and headed for the door, ignoring its master's calls.

"It's okay, pal! It's probably the delivery man from Mr. Tong's," said Tim, but Jet kept on jumping up and down at the front door, fulfilling his role as a watchdog.

Puzzled, the young man got out of his armchair; he knew his pet had excellent hearing and he must have recognized something or someone in the distance to behave like this. Not wanting Jet to frighten the delivery man, Tim grabbed the dog by its collar and held him back, even though it wasn't an easy task considering the dog's size. After a minute or two, a knock was heard on the other side of the front door, causing Jet to bark loudly.

"Who is it?" asked Tim over the hullabaloo.

"Timothy? It's me, Ducky."

Tim's face brightened at the sound of the distinguished voice; he always had a soft spot for the Chief Medical Examiner, whose sole presence always had a soothing effect on the irascible Leroy Jethro Gibbs, even in one of his worse days. McGee had often regretted the morgue had been located in the basement: had it been placed closer to the bullpen, Ducky would have been able to interfere each time Gibbs had barked his dissatisfaction over his agents' work, something that happened way too often.

Tim unlocked the door and indeed, it was Dr. Donald "Ducky" Mallard standing in the hallway, carrying a leather briefcase in one hand. The old man, unimpressed by Jet's loud barking and furious waggling of tail, gave Tim a kind smile before removing his trademark hat from his head.

"Good evening, Timothy. I hope I am not intruding?"

"Not at all, Ducky. Oh, Jet, calm down! You recognize Ducky, now, do you? In fact, I was just relaxing in front of the TV, it has been a long day – ssh, Jet! That's enough, buddy. Please come in Ducky, before my dog disturbs the whole neighborhood."

McGee let the doctor in and promptly closed the front door behind him, not wanting the noise to create a conflict with the people living next door to him. Jet stopped his barking and sniffed at Ducky's hands, pants and shoes to be certain the visitor was harmless; it was his duty to protect his favorite human as well as their shared territory, and Jet took his tasks very seriously. Tim watched his pet closely as he didn't want him to jump at Ducky; being pushed down by a large dog could have disastrous consequences for a man well in his seventies.

"What brings you here, Ducky? I suppose it's about my departure," said McGee with a small sigh while guiding the doctor towards the living room.

"As a matter of fact, dear boy, it is. My presence here is indeed related to your future stay in Afghanistan; I'd like to offer you my help, if you are willing to listen to an old man's ramblings."

Tim's green eyes widened at those words: Ducky wanted to _help_ him? He _approved_ of his decision?

"Please don't look so surprised, lad," said Ducky with a chuckle. "You may not feel it often in everyday life but there **are** persons in this world who are genuinely concerned about your well-being and I pride myself of being part of this club."

"I know, Ducky, it is just… Well, some people are hiding so well under an armor of toughness that getting through them proves to be impossible and… After years of trying and failing, I get discouraged."

Those sad words prompted Ducky to put a hand on the young man's shoulder and squeeze it in a reassuring gesture.

"I know who you mean, my boy. However, I am concerned by the important matter of your health abroad and this is the reason bringing me here. Do you think we could talk for a while without me risking being licked to death by your ferocious watchdog?"

Tim looked downwards and had a hard time to refrain from laughing: Jet had stopped his inspection and was indeed busy covering Ducky's other hand, the one holding the briefcase, with saliva by thorough strokes of his long, wet tongue.

"Sorry about that, Ducky," said the young man, cheered up by his dog's antics. "Please, sit on the couch – Jet won't bother you; he knows you're a friend. C'mon, pal, be a good dog and leave Ducky in peace, okay?"

* * *

><p>Doctor Mallard gladly sank into the couch's cushions; the dog immediately lied down on the rug next to the visitor, occasionally taking a sniff at his shoes for good measure. Tim offered tea and biscuits and they were gratefully accepted. While the young man was in the kitchen, Ducky dried his wet fingers with a handkerchief; then, he grabbed his briefcase, took out a bundle of papers and a leather-bound small notebook, and put them down on the coffee table – all this under the interested eyes of the German shepherd, which whined softly.<p>

"You have guessed right, you attentive four-legged creature. These items may prove to be useful for Timothy for his upcoming mission and I would like to give it to him before he leaves. I hope you approve?"

Another whine from Jet made the animal sound like he appreciated Ducky's thoughtfulness, and then the dog laid its head back on the rug, showing he wasn't going to interfere any further in the upcoming exchange between his master and the visitor. Tim came back from the kitchen, carrying a tray holding cups, saucers, a handful of sugar cubes in a small cup, Earl Grey tea bags, a plate with various kinds of biscuits and a pot of boiled water. He put the tray on the coffee table and sat in front of the doctor.

"Here you go, Ducky. Would you like some milk with your tea, or maybe a drop of lemon?"

"I prefer my tea black with one sugar, please, dear boy."

Tim busied himself in preparing the tea just like his guest wanted and, within a few minutes, the two men were happily sipping on the hot beverage and munching on biscuits. Jet, his sense of smelling alerted by the sweet treats, looked at his owner with eager eyes and was rewarded by a half-biscuit thrown right into his mouth. Ducky watched the whole scene with amusement:

"He has you wrapped around his little digit, hasn't he?"

"That he does. By the way, Ducky, I'd like to apologize for the scene that happened this morning. I shouldn't have lost my temper but Abby's accusations of mistreating Jet, right after Gibbs calling me a traitor and Tony's mockeries, well... It has been the proverbial straw breaking the camel's back. I am very sorry you have witnessed all this, though."

"My dear lad, don't apologize for things you haven't made. You are **not** the guilty party here so don't start shouldering responsabilities which are not your owns. Abigail overreacted and she never left you a chance to explain yourself about your mission, which was already a silly action, and she should have known better than having a temper tantrum right in front of her co-workers. Abigail may not dress like it but she's an adult, legally responsible for her actions and it is high time she realizes this fact instead of turning to Gibbs every time she's in trouble… or finding a scapegoat to take the blame in her stead," added Ducky as he pointedly looked at McGee.

Tim sighed and rubbed his face between both hands. Apparently, he being punished for Abby's disobedience was an open secret within NCIS.

"I still can't believe she accused me of planning to lock up Jet in a kennel during my absence. After our shaky start and all what he and I went through, we developed a beautiful relationship and now I simply can't imagine my life without him. Jet is the only one is this world who doesn't criticize me, can you imagine? That's the beauty of pets; they accept people for who they are."

"And I daresay, Timothy, that your adoption of Jet is a small miracle in itself. A lesser man would have gladly handed out the dog to a shelter, or even having it put down for revenge and yet you have forgiven him for attacking you, gave him a home and lots of love."

"Abby forced my hand, Ducky. I wasn't keen to have Jet in the beginning but her intentions were clear: I had to take him otherwise she would have made my life a living Hell at the office. She called me _"Bad McGee"_ as if I were a mutt, treated me worse than dirt during the whole case and it never crossed her mind to apologize afterwards. No, **I **was the monster, the killer, the lowlife scum who had dared to shot at a drugged dog so I ought to make amends, no matter the fear I have felt."

"You may not be aware of it, Timothy, but your reputation within NCIS has exponentially grown after this special case. I have it on good authority that a lot of people have been amazed by your adoption of Jet and they can't stop praising your forgiveness and generosity."

"But some of them also laughed out loud at my weakness, since I haven't had the guts to refuse Abby. Right?" asked Tim with a hint of bitterness.

"Fortunately, petty-minded persons are making a very small minority group at NCIS, Timothy. I can assure you are known all over the agency as a diligent and competent agent, and a good man above everything else."

"Too bad Gibbs, Tony and Abby don't share this opinion."

It was Ducky's turn to sigh, and the old man took off his rounded glasses to clean them.

"Laddie, I cannot speak for Jethro, Anthony or Abigail; however, I can pretend to have a long life experience and I want you to know this, Timothy: you are one of the finest fellows I have ever met. When you first arrived at NCIS I was afraid you would quit after a week in Team Gibbs and, frankly, I wouldn't have blamed you. You were very young, eager to please and inexperienced, making you an easy target – and that's what happened, isn't it? And yet you have never given up, no matter how many times Anthony bullied you with mean jokes, Jethro had been odious towards you or Abigail played on your feelings. You actually have been able to endure Jethro's Marine-like training. Do you realize what an extraordinary feat it is?"

"It isn't so rare, Ducky. Tony, Kate and Ziva also have succeeded to not break under the pressure – and they all did it better than me!"

"But the three of them had police or military background, Timothy. Even I have served in the Royal Army Medical Corps and this experience had been of great help throughout my life, but especially after I've started working at NCIS. No, lad, you are the only computer technician who has been smart and tough enough to bear the weight of Jethro's incessant demands with little or no rewards at the end of it all and this is a bigger accomplishment than the ones made by your co-workers."

Tim blushed and casted his eyes to the floor; he trusted the amiable older man but his modest nature simply couldn't believe he would be regarded higher than his teammates: being overlooked had become second nature to Timothy McGee!

"Whatever good work I've done in the past doesn't matter, Ducky. Gibbs will never forgive me after what happened this morning," said Tim somberly. "I'm leaving for six months, I can't say why and Abby got in trouble with Vance: that makes three good reasons for Gibbs to rip me apart. Even if I get my job back after Afghanistan, he'll never stop hurling insults until I crack up and quit NCIS. Gibbs is a control freak and he just can't stand people who stand up against him."

"Well, maybe it is time somebody did," said the doctor firmly.

"Oh, come on, Ducky! Gibbs is convinced he's always right and thus, if he thinks the mission in Afghanistan is a bad idea, nothing on Earth will make him change his mind. And since I won't change **my** mind about leaving, he'll blacklist me and that's the end of it. Nobody crosses Gibbs and lives long enough to tell the story."

An awkward silence fell between the two men. Jet, sensing his master was in distress once again, got up and tucked its head against the young man's chest – the canine version of a hug. Tim absently scratched the dog's ears.

"You know, Ducky, at times I thought Gibbs' attitude was due to his name."

"What do you mean, my boy?"

"Well, _"Leroy" _means_ "The King"_ in French. _"Jethro"_ was Moses' father-in-law and his name can be translated as _"His Excellency"__. _So I am dealing every day with a man named after sovereigns and high-ranking state officers so who I am to argue with him? No, the only thing I am allowed to do is to shut up and execute orders after Gibbs has talked."

"Do you really believe this, Timothy?"

"Ducky, he never asked me anything about this mission. I would have answered him gladly – as much as I could have – but it wasn't of any interest to him. The only thing he could think of is how he would deal with another computer tech and what impact my absence will have on solving cases. We are like a small kingdom at NCIS: Gibbs is King, Tony is Heir apparent, Ziva is the trusted Spy, Abby is Princess and you are the Physician, with Jimmy as your assistant."

"And what role do you play in this strange court, lad?"

"The Jester," said Tim, his green eyes getting darker. "Good for a laugh, good for relying information, and good to get kicked into a corner once fun time is over."

"That's not true, Timothy!" protested the Scotsman, slamming his cup back into the saucer in indignation. "You can't actually believe that you have this kind of status within the team!"

"I do, Ducky."

Doctor Mallard looked at the young man in bemusement; he would never have guessed the depths of Tim's pain and he felt guilty to not have interfered more frequently on his behalf. Ducky hadn't said a word after Gibbs had ordered McGee to drive the German shepherd back to NCIS, regardless of the wounds he had sustained, or entering a pool filled with polluted water in spite of the red tag adorning its sides. Tim could have caught an infectious disease in the process, like malaria, and both the Team Leader and the ME would have had a hard time explaining the cause of his illness to Director Vance. Afterwards, Ducky had thanked his lucky stars McGee had gotten out of this pool unharmed but he had kicked himself repetitively for his negligence, unworthy of a medical man.

Then, Tim's voice rose again: "I am not saying this to make you feel bad, Ducky. I know you're on my side, and maybe even Jimmy and Ziva but I really don't know about Gibbs and Tony. As for Abby, well… At least, her latest scene had had the merit to have shown her true colors. I've come to terms with this situation at work and, since nothing will ever change it, it is useless to hope for improvement. But I can assure you my leave for Afghanistan hasn't been dictated by desperation or spite: I have been offered the possibility to achieve something that might be helpful for our troops, and I won't back off out of fear of my boss."

"Oh! Speaking of which… Dear Ziva has asked me what kind of medical check-up you will have to do before leaving, and I think this will help you in preparing your journey accurately."

Ducky took the bunch of papers he had previously taken out of his briefcase and handed them to McGee.

"What is it?"

"My boy, these are my notes about the medical supplies you'll need during your stay; there is the names and description of medications, bandages, anti-venom kits and disinfectants to be prepared for all contingencies. Hopefully you'll stay at a base in Kandahar but in case you are asked to travel through the desert, it would be a shame if you'd be hurt and unable to tend to your wounds from lack of proper equipment. I also wrote down the vaccinations you'll have to get before leaving, and I took the liberty to contact your attending physician and arrange an appointment for tomorrow morning, so you won't have to waste precious time negotiating on the phone with his receptionist – I've made it clear to this young person that you having a thorough medical check-up was absolutely top priority."

Tim glanced through the papers with avidity, and indeed Ducky's list was completing nicely the one he had written in the morning. He would have a complete medical set for Kandahar!

"Wow, thank you, Ducky. And what's this?" asked McGee, indicating the notebook on the coffee table.

The doctor picked up the leather-bound booklet and looked at the young man straight in the eyes:

"This, dear lad, is a compilation of my own experience in Afghanistan. As you know, I went there in the eighties during the Soviet invasion and I was stationed at the Jalozai refugee camp, near the Pakistani border."

"Yes, I do – but I also know you don't like talking about your time there. You had a horrid experience with Marcin Jerek, _"Mr. Pain"_, who was running a CIA interrogation program consisting in torturing Afghan refugees on suspicion of espionage."

"It was a terrible time, Timothy. I'll never forget the horrors I've witnessed in this camp, or the actions I had to take to spare the victims of further abominations from _"Mr. Pain"…_ I moved to the United States afterwards but I was plagued by war dreams. Then, somebody advised me to write as therapy and, in this notebook, I recorded all my experience as a soldier in Afghanistan: how to behave properly with the locals, what to do in case of attacks or explosions, how to keep oneself clean in the desert, how to avoid dysentery, what are the bases of Afghan's society and so on. I have no doubts you have read many books about this country since the day you have been involved in your project but a little extra advice can't hurt. I have called this notebook: _"The Duckman's guide of how to survive in Afghanistan as a soldier."_"

"Oh, thanks! Your first-hand experience will be invaluable!"

Tim opened the notebook and indeed, the title had been written in a decorative hand on the front-page. But, right below the title, there was a drawing of the cartoon character Donald Duck instead of the author's name.

"But… Why didn't you sign it?"

"I don't want you to be in trouble in Afghanistan because of me, Timothy. If, by a terrible turn of events, relatives of _"Mr. Pain"_'s victims find a book on you bearing the name of Doctor Donald Mallard, they will quickly understand you and I are acquaintances and they might seek retaliation by killing you, even years after the Soviet invasion. I would blame myself for all eternity if harm would ever befall on you because of my actions. I know I won't be forgiven for what I did in the Jalozai refugee camp but it is my burden to bear and I refuse to make you a collateral victim. This is why I borrowed this Disney character to hide my identity and to protect you."

Another length of silence fell in the living room, interrupted only by Jet's breathing. Then Ducky spoke again and Tim was shocked to see the old man's eyes shining from unshed tears:

"You were wrong this morning, Timothy; your dog won't be the only one who will miss you. I am torn between respecting your commitment and wanting you to stay here, where it is safe. Please, Timothy, come back alive; I don't care if you are showered with medals or if the mysterious project turns out to be a total failure, just come back alive and well – for your parents, your teammates and me. Can you promise me you'll be careful, that you'll remain the bright and sensible boy I've come to love like a nephew?"

"Ducky!"

Tim launched himself in the older man's arms, who pulled him into an embrace. McGee knelt by the couch, burying his face in the doctor's shoulder to hide his tears but the tremors shaking his body betrayed his anguish. Ducky held on tightly, knowing his young co-worker needed a good emotional outlet after the abuse he had endured earlier in the day. Alarmed, Jet went to his master and started to lick at Tim's ear; this kindness, added with Ducky's genuine concern, made McGee cry even more but he somehow managed to say between two sobs:

"I promise, Ducky… I promise you I'll come back alive!"

"Good man. Oh, good man!" said the doctor while gently stroking the brownish-blond hair. "What a good man you are, Timothy McGee. And you'll see, life will be better at NCIS after your return. Team Gibbs will finally realize they can't do anything without their walking heart of gold and they will have to champ at the bit until you come home, and then you'll get an unforgettable welcome. Be aware, though, that your teammates won't let you leave a second time – they'll chain you to your desk and throw away the padlock's key, if needed!"

TBC…


	7. A reflection

**Disclaimer**: same as Chapter 1.

**Author's notes: **

_- Jane Eyre_ is a novel by English writer Charlotte Brontë (1816–1855), published in 1847.

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><p><strong>Chapter 7: A reflection<strong>

Night had fallen over DC and Leroy Jethro Gibbs was in the basement of his house, sanding the hull of the brand-new boat he was finishing building. After the tragic loss of his family, followed with three failed marriages, he had picked up woodworking as a hobby to avoid the entrapment of solitude. At the beginning, he had made toys but they had reminded him too much of Kelly, his adored little girl, so he had given the whole lot to charities before switching for boats – a much more difficult construction to master. Many attempts had been abandoned, smashed out of frustration, yelled at and re-started before the former Marine had finally comprehended the various ins and outs of naval engineering. But spending hours in this basement with a bottle of Jack Daniel's as sole companion had helped Gibbs in dealing not only with his loneliness, but also with the stress and struggles caused by his job at NCIS.

Gibbs had struggled in finding the right equilibrium in his team almost as much as he had with boat building. The recruitment had been slow since a lot of people at NCIS disapproved of his drill sergeant attitude and many agents had thrown the towel after one week under his command. Gibbs had then concluded that only the resilient could work with him and, over the years, he had found those rare persons: Kate Todd, ex-Secret Services, tough-as-nails and good fighter; Tony DiNozzo, cocky cop recruited after a fight in a Baltimore street; Abby Sciuto, forensics expert with a _"little Goth girl lost"_ attitude; Ziva David, crack shot and no-nonsense woman; Ducky, the only ME able to rein in Gibbs' notorious impatience; Jimmy Palmer, Ducky's shy and tenacious assistant…

Gibbs would have been contented with these teammates but, over the years, he had had to admit his personal nemesis (computers) was taking over the world. Nothing escaped the Internet and millions of data were recorded in those damn keyboard-maneuvered machines; it would have been folly to deprive oneself of mines of information, especially when dealing with murder cases requiring quick deductions and prompt arrests. However, Gibbs was a complete flop about computers – he was able to send e-mails and type with two fingers, but that was the end of it. Fighting the numeric revolution was useless and Gibbs had admitted needing a computer expert, someone who could actually find clues in this confusing universe made of zeroes and ones.

That was when Timothy McGee had stepped in their lives.

The smoothing plane made a loud noise after Gibbs had made a furious movement; as a result, the wood was damaged, making the NCIS Team Leader curse loudly and violently. He usually avoided verbal anger at work, preferring head-slaps to express his frustrations but, in the safe space of his basement, he could yell his head off without having any witnesses around.

Gibbs inspected the damage and made a face: the damage on the hull was important and it would need a clear head to fix it, something Gibbs didn't have for the moment. His evening of woodworking was ruined so the only option left was to drown his worries in Jack Daniels. Gibbs poured himself a glass and looked somberly at the ruined hull as the difficult events of the day came back to his mind, starting with the confrontation in Vance's office:

"_McGee doesn't belong to you, Gibbs."_

"_I asked Agent McGee to go in a war zone and he accepted right away."_

"_He's way more than a computer tech, if you had ever bothered to find out!"_

"_Some people don't realize they've been granted a blessing until it's too late."_

Then, McGee's statement in the conference room came back to haunt him:

"_Trusting you is like trying to walk on quicksand, Tony."_

"_Your crime-solving rate is all what matters to you, Boss? Oh well, I should have guessed."_

"_I know what I'm not: golden boy, favorite or adopted child. I'm a tool, and that's it: only a mere tool to be used and then discarded once the need is over."_

Gibbs tightened his hold on his glass, at the risk of shattering it under the pressure of his hand. Good grief, what had happened today? His team had been torn apart and he had been absolutely powerless to prevent it. But never, not even in his worst nightmares, would Gibbs have imagined McGee leaving for a war zone, with only sad words for his co-workers as a departing gift!

Timothy (no middle name) McGee, the computer wizard he had pulled out of Norfolk and gave him a chance to work for the uncompromising Leroy Jethro Gibbs: the kid had been greener than grass at the time and it had made him the perfect victim for Tony's and Kate's mean pranks. Also, he had been systematically volunteered for grunt work in the field, his prowess with computers constantly mocked. Gibbs hadn't done anything about it, either; he figured that if McGee couldn't resist the stress, then he couldn't work for him and it would be the end of it. Rumors had spread through NCIS like wildfire, with the other agents stating that _"the quiet, sensible McGee kid"_ wouldn't last six months under Gibbs' fierce dressage. But, astonishingly, Tim had lasted for eight years, making a lot of people lose betting money.

Gibbs had thought he had built the perfect team like a hull made of wooden planks from various origins, giving it an unsurpassed resistance to pressure but the morning's confrontation had made his boat break up in a suffocating cloud of sawdust. McGee's words had expressed a lot of repressed pain and, what was much worse, complete distrust towards his Leader and the Senior Agent. This revelation had been a hard blow for Gibbs, who abhorred failure above everything and he had to admit –only in the tranquility of his basement – that Tim's departure was capsizing them all. His team wasn't the bonded group he had imagined; one member had been suffering in silence for years from their callousness, isolating McGee from the others until he hadn't been able to stand it any longer, and Gibbs had been too blinded by his pride to notice anything.

He had taken McGee for granted and it had been a terrible mistake.

Abby's scene at the bullpen hadn't helped, either; her misplaced outrage about Jethro the German shepherd had somehow proved to McGee of his second-class status not only within his team, but also to his former lover. No wonder why the young man only had painful words for the Lab Rat before leaving the bullpen:

"_Go back to your lab, Abby. You've already made a perfect fool out of yourself so try to not worsen the situation any further."_

"_Your recent Humane Society Drama Queen act has proved once again that you care more for a dog than for me."_

"_The only thing I regret is having wasted time thinking you would eventually treat me like a human being instead of your doormat."_

Underestimated since Day One by his co-workers, receiving only indifference from his Team Leader, why would have Tim stayed in NCIS? A few words of well-deserved praise would have made all the difference in the world but this idea had never crossed the mind of the infallible, over-confident and playing-favorite Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

Well, playing-favorite had certainly bit Gibbs on the bottom with a vengeance this morning: he had to deal with a hysterical Abby right after she had walked out of Vance's office, and then throughout the cleaning up of her lab. Abby had wailed the whole time for being separated from her beloved technological "babies", screaming at the unfairness of her punishment and how NCIS would fall during her absence, stating no agent was able to conduct an investigation without her expertise and they would beg her to come back after a week. She also didn't miss the occasion to place the blame of her predicament on McGee's shoulders, loud enough for the whole bullpen to hear. As on cue, the other NCIS agents had added their own comments about the situation just as a tearful Abby was escorted outside by security:

"_Unbelievable!"_

"_See? I told you Sciuto would make a scandal!"_

"_No wonders here, considering the number of _Caf-Pow_s she slurps on all day…"_

"_Vance suspended her for six weeks, you say?"_

"_Yeah, he didn't appreciate the scene she made earlier… Oh well, she had it coming."_

"_And she's blaming McGee for her suspension? Some nerve!"_

"_Bah! Daddy Gibbs will fix up her mess, as usual."_

"_Are there no adults in Gibbs' team?"_

"_Only one, and he's leaving for Afghanistan."_

Those comments had thrown shame all over Team Gibbs and it had made the ex-Marine so angry he could barely see straight. He had left NCIS to drive Abby home, and then he had to console her for the rest of the day. After hours of weeping, she had finally calmed down and Gibbs had made her a small supper which she had picked at before going to bed, half-reassured by the older man's promises that he would plead her cause to Director Vance. Watching Abby so broken had fuelled Gibbs' ire to the maximum and only hours of sanding in his basement had prevented him to drive up to McGee's place and punch the young man on the face.

The ex-Marine suddenly threw his glass against the nearest wall, making it explode in large shards as a geyser of Jack Daniel's splattered all over the painted concrete.

"Why didn't you tell me, McGee? Why didn't you come over to my house and discuss it? WHY DID YOU KEEP QUIET ALL THESE YEARS?" asked Gibbs with a roar.

Only silence greeted him, but the answers weren't hard to find: McGee hadn't told him anything because he knew it would have been a lost cause. Gibbs wouldn't have admitted Tony crossed the line way too often and he would never have taken measures to correct the situation. Ziva, just like Kate did before, would be peacekeeper between the two men whereas this role was supposed to be played by a leader, the one setting an example; instead, Gibbs had let the abuse to go on, comforting Tony in his "golden boy" position while McGee had been left in the dust. Besides, Tim wasn't the kind to complain and he had an undying faith in human nature: he had thought against all odds his hard work would earn him the respect of his teammates… But then, he had grown tired of waiting. Courage, like patience, had its limits.

"**DAMN YOU, McGEE!"** yelled the said Gibbs at the top of his lungs.

The ex-Marine then slowly sank on the ground, his back supported by the workbench. He stared at the whisky slowly running down from the wall to the floor, falling on heavy drops on the glass scattered all over the floor.

Gosh, was it ever easy to place the blame on McGee! But deep down, Gibbs knew he was sole responsible for the whole situation; he had ignored Rule no. 51, the one he had never mentioned to his subordinates because it would ruin no. 6, his personal motto: _"Apologizing is a sign of weakness."_ Rule 51 was a big, dark secret that Gibbs had kept hidden inside his mind, acting similarly to M. Rochester locking away his maddened wife in the upstairs bedroom of Thornfield Hall in _Jane Eyre_. But, just like in the book, the prisoner would sometimes escape and cause a major mayhem – and Rule 51 was running havoc in Gibbs' brains, destroying his self-confidence by showing him the errors of his ways but it was too late… much too late.

Rule no. 51: _"Sometimes, you're wrong"._

Gibbs' pride had made him forget about this and McGee would pay a high price for his Team Leader's failures. God knows what kind of perils would befall on the kid while in Afghanistan: it was a war zone where danger was lurking everywhere and being involved on a secret project wouldn't help, either. Wars attracted spies like flies on honey and Gibbs knew it would be a matter of time before information about a genius working on a computer program would reach hostile ears. And then, what would become of McGee? Would he be shot at to prevent him from succeeding? Or maybe rebels would kidnap him and turn his knowledge against US troops after the young man would have been tortured within an inch of his life, all this because Gibbs had spectacularly failed as a boss, a leader and a human being.

"And damn me, too," concluded the older man.

* * *

><p>Tim McGee shut down his office computer with a sigh of relief. It was past midnight and he had just finished clearing his electronic files. He would finally be allowed to go home and have a good sleep after such an exhausting day!<p>

After Ducky had left, Tim had glanced through the doctor's notebook and he would have started reading it on the spot if he hadn't been interrupted by the doorbell – it had been the delivery man from Mr. Tong's, and McGee had a hard time to stop the German shepherd from jumping at the poor guy in his eagerness to grab a bite of Chinese food. Dinner had been eaten in front of the TV and then Tim had left for NCIS, while Jet was comfortably settled in the living room with a movie about a stray dog becoming the partner of a down-his-luck cop having trouble with both his colleagues and gangsters stealing diamonds in Beverly Hills.

Tim smiled at the thought of his dog being engrossed by a canine movie star, but his green gaze saddened as he looked around the bullpen: the place was silent and deserted, as expected in this hour of the night, and yet the young man could "see" with his mind's eye the story behind every detail of the room. The strain on the floor near Gibbs' desk, a testimony of a coffee cup toppling over after a certain Team Leader had slammed a drawer too violently. The flat TVs mounted on the walls, displaying endless information. Tony's wastebasket, always stuffed with pizza boxes and hamburger wrappings. The staircases heading for the Multiple Threat Alert Center (MTAC) and the Director's office; the plasma screen; the elevator, which Gibbs occasionally used as a private conference room after having switched on the cabin's emergency button. Ziva's desk, formerly Kate's before she had been shot in the head by double agent Ari Haswari, Ziva's half-brother…

The souvenir of this tragedy interrupted Tim's moment of nostalgia and made him search through one of his desk's drawers. Its contents were neatly arranged, since the young man liked tidiness – a trait that had earned him Tony's mockeries since, according to the Senior Agent, being organized wasn't a masculine quality – and it didn't take him long to take out an item he had stashed beneath notebooks.

It was a thank-you card.

A classic one, too: the front was showing a photograph of a sailboat on a glassy sea, heading towards the sunset while birds were flying in the gold-and-blue sky. The caption simply read _"Thank you"_ in dark blue calligraphic letters and the whole image gave an impression of tranquility, peace after the storm, the renewal of hope after a great torment.

But Tim knew it wasn't the case. He didn't bother to open the card because he was the one who had penned the message inside, and every word had stabbed him in the heart more painfully than a stiletto blade. He had written:

"_Detested terrorist,_

_According to my boss and Tony, I owe you a card to thank you for shooting dead Kate, my colleague, after having failed to kill me. Forensic evidences have proven you were shooting at me while I was posted in the street, and only the fact I was shielded by a car saved me from your bullets. Thus, you wanted a consolation prize and you murdered Kate. The fact she was a woman didn't stop you; you were thirsty for blood and anyone would have fitted the bill, which is behavior expected from a coward._

_Paying my respects to Kate at the morgue has been the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. It was awful to see her lying so still on a cold stab, while just an hour before she had been so full of life. Kate was my heroine and her presence has helped me a lot to deal with Tony's daily taunts and Gibbs' disdain._

_Now she's gone, and I have been told twice that I should express my gratitude towards you. But gratitude for what? For murdering my friend, for failing to kill me, for making me suffocate in survivor's guilt? I will have to look at Kate's empty desk every day while Gibbs and Tony will remind me that I should have been killed instead of her. Kate's death is a terrible loss while mine would have been a small matter. Secret Services' agents are much more difficult to replace than computer geeks._

_So, detested terrorist, here's my card to you but you won't find any kind words in it. I am not grateful towards people who gun down my friends. One may argue that Gibbs and Tony both said this stupid remark about a thank-you card as a way to cope with grief but right now, I don't care. Mind you, they don't care about my feelings, either._

_My only wish is that one day I will be the one slapping the cuffs on you in memory of Caitlin "Kate" Todd._

_If I sound bitter, it's because I am._

_Sincerely,_

_Special Agent Timothy McGee."_

A tear escaped from Tim's emerald eyes to fall on his desk. Even after all these years, he still hadn't recovered from Kate's death. The shock of her murder, combined with the terrible realization that he had been so close to death, had lead him to seek help since he couldn't have obtained any kind of moral support from his teammates. McGee had kept those sessions with Dr. Markham a secret, of course; the mere mention of therapy would have earned him another round of "McCoward" nicknames from Tony and a contemptuous glare from Gibbs. So Tim had dealt with his problems on his own, as usual. Thankfully, Dr. Markham had done a good job curing him of his guilt and the young man had been able to welcome Ziva in the team with a sincere smile and a honest heart.

The card had become useless; it was just a piece of strong paper adorned with a photo and filled with angry words. Tim wanted to leave a clean slate before his mission to Afghanistan so there was no sense in keeping it. A flick of the wrist made the card fall into the wastebasket; it would be disappear with the rest of the trash tomorrow morning, its very existence erased from McGee's souvenirs.

Satisfied, Tim grabbed his jacket and backpack, switched off his desk lamp and headed for the elevator, looking forward to sleep in his comfy bed while he could still do it. Within minutes, he had reached the underground parking and drove away from NCIS in his Porsche, heading for home and rest.

But McGee had been wrong thinking the bullpen had been deserted: unknowingly to him, Leon Vance had observed him the whole time he had been at his desk, and the Agency Director had waited for him to leave before fishing the thank-you card out of the wastebasket.

TBC…


	8. A sensation

**Disclaimer**: same as Chapter 1.

**Author's notes:**

- To PrairiecityGirl: hi! I'm glad you are still enjoying the story.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 8: A sensation<strong>

It was around 6:00 a.m. when Tim McGee opened his eyes. In spite of having worked late at the office the night before, he didn't feel tired – probably because he was too excited by his upcoming departure for Afghanistan. It was Friday morning, meaning he had only two days left until he received a phone call telling him where and when he would board in the plane. Tim groaned and rolled on his side, enjoying for a while the warmth of his bedding. Without opening his eyes, the young man started to mentally organize his agenda for the day:

_- Appointment with his doctor_. He had no doubts Ducky's intervention would earn him a phone call early in the morning, telling him he could come over to Doctor Parker's office as soon as 9:00 a.m.. Good thing he was an early riser.

_- Buying medical supplies. _He would go to the drugstore with Ducky's list in hand, right after his appointment with Doctor Parker.

_- Lunchtime with Jet_. They would go to the park, for a breath of fresh air.

Tim had a smile at the thought of the German shepherd currently lying on his blanket, in the kitchen. Jet had probably heard him awaking and he was patiently waiting for his master to get up, as it was a sure sign breakfast would be served soon. The dog simply couldn't resist his morning bowl of _'Doggies' delights'_!

The young man's smile turned sour at the recollection of Abby's wild accusations the day before. He knew it was useless to dwell in the past but he had to admit it still hurt – especially after having kidded himself for years about the woman's feelings for him. As for Gibbs, Tony and Ziva… apart from Ducky, no one had deigned manifesting him support and understanding about the special project. It said a lot about his status in Team Gibbs: low man of the totem pole, the Jester, the disregarded computer geek… Despite Ducky's protests, McGee had been right all along and this dreadful silence simply reinforced his determination to fly to Kabul.

Thankfully, Tim had taken all legal precautions weeks ago; an appointment with his lawyer had made him draw a will, leaving his financial assets and the flat to his parents. Sarah would inherit his Porsche and his royalties as author Thom E. Gemcity; his friend Andrew Somerset would become Jet's new owner, along with a comfortable sum of money for the dog's expenses; all his books would go to Ducky and he had even bequeath a few things to his teammates…, provided they would be interested, which was highly unlikely. As for Abby, he hadn't mentioned her in his will. Tim had felt a bit remorseful about it at the time but after the scene she had made at the bullpen, he had become certain it had been the right decision.

Tim sighed, and then the rest of the planned day came to his mind:

_- Buying computer items. _He would go to _"Electronics Elite"_, the best store in town. Tim would have to buy double supplies to be absolutely certain he wouldn't lack anything while working on The Watcher abroad.

_- Dental appointment_. Luckily enough, he had taken this appointment a long time ago, way before General Stephenson had called him about the project and the date had coincided with his departure. Nothing beat the semi-annual dental inspection!

_- Letters to his parents and sister_. He would write and mail them tomorrow, so they would be delivered no later than Tuesday morning.

_- Finishing packing his clothes and stuff_, and then the day would be finished.

Next day would be a Saturday, and Tim would have enough time to do the little chores such as going to the barber (not doubt a haircut was awaiting him in Afghanistan, but getting one beforehand couldn't hurt), cleaning up the flat, getting rid of the food that could get spoiled in the fridge, giving Mrs. Bergman next door his potted green plants, and then… It would be time to drive Jet up to Andy's house.

It would be a painful separation but Tim knew he couldn't delay any more. He was supposed to leave on Sunday and the plane could take off at the early hours of the morning or late at night. Being ready was paramount and McGee couldn't entrust his dog to his friend in a panic, right after having received the phone call telling him a car would pick him up within the hour. Tim would have loved to keep Jet until the last minute but it wasn't possible; besides, his dog had to get used to sleep at Andy's…

The young man got out of the blankets and sat on the edge of his bed. It was going to be a hard couple of days but what must be done, had to be done. The Watcher was awaited; Tim McGee had given his word to General Stephenson that he would help the troops stationed abroad, and he had no intention of breaking his promise anytime soon.

Half an hour later, a showered, shaved and dressed Tim was serving breakfast to his dog, which thanked him by gently rubbing his muzzle against his master's leg. While Jet was gulping noisily on the food, his best human was enjoying a cup of coffee and scrambled eggs as the TV in the background was broadcasting the latest news. But then, the German shepherd stopped eating his breakfast to run at the front door, something Tim found highly puzzling: his pet was crazy about his _'Doggies' Delights'_ and he certainly wouldn't have abandoned the food without a good reason.

"What's the matter, buddy?" asked McGee, rising from his chair. As an answer, the dog started barking in alarm but the young man didn't need a translator: a visitor was approaching, since Jet was acting like he had done previously when Ducky had come over for tea and advice.

A ring of the doorbell confirmed his suspicions, and yet McGee couldn't imagine anyone visiting him so early. It was probably Gibbs wanting to read him the riot act before going to the office, on the grounds that Abby had been scolded by Vance; well then, the Team Leader was on for a big surprise: after having received Ducky's affection and support, Tim was more resolute than ever to go to Afghanistan and not even Gibbs would manage to discourage him with his usual misplaced accusations or harsh comments. He'll set Jet on his boss, if needed! Holding the German shepherd by the collar, after having told him to quiet down, Tim asked:

"Who is it?"

"Tim? It's Ziva."

McGee almost relinquished his hold on Jet's collar, out of surprise after hearing his co-worker's voice behind the door. He certainly didn't expect her to come to his place so early! The dog barked again but Tim ordered him to sit – meaning Jet wasn't allowed to jump up and down at the visitor – and then he opened the door: indeed it was Ziva David, looking as lovely as ever with a scarf keeping her long dark hair out of the delicate features of her face. She was wearing jeans, a dark leather jacket and her backpack was slung over her left shoulder.

"Hi, Ziva!"

"Hello, Tim. I know it is kind of early in the morning but may I have a little word? You must be busy with packing and all the rest, but I really, really would like to talk to you for a moment."

"And you are really, really welcome to do so, Zee. Jet, stay put, this is Ziva and you are to greet her properly, okay, bud? Now show her you are a good-behaved dog, and say 'Hi'!"

Jet obeyed his master and, without moving from his seated position, he licked at the woman's fingers and this action made her smile. Ziva never had pets as a little girl since her father's position at Mossad had earned him many enemies; her family had been forced to move often and having a cat or a dog would have complicated matters greatly. To avoid his daughters the pain to have a pet put down each time they were forced to change town, Eli David had then decided animals weren't allowed in their household.

"Would you like some breakfast, Ziva? I can make more scrambled eggs, or toasts with butter."

"Thank you, Tim, I have already eaten," answered the young woman as she patted Jet on the head. "But I wouldn't mind some extra coffee."

"Coffee it is, then," said Tim while heading for the kitchen. Ziva and Jet followed suit and within minutes, both humans were seated at the little table, in front of steaming mugs of coffee while the dog was reunited with his beloved bowl filled with _'Doggies Delights'_. Once the alarm was over and he was certain their territory wasn't endangered, Jet could go back to his business (but he kept an eye on the female human, as a matter of principle). Ziva dumped her backpack at her feet and McGee poured coffee in two porcelain mugs, offering the one bearing the John Hopkins University logo to his guest.

"So, what's up, Ziva?" asked Tim after having taken a long swing of his coffee cup.

"Tim, I… I just wanted you to know that I understand you going to Afghanistan. I can't say I'm happy about you leaving because it would be lying and I am quite aware of how difficult the situation is in the Middle East, it is a scary thing to think you are going in a war zone but you are a smart guy and you know what you're doing. Whatever the project you mentioned is, it must be important and you are an ace with computers so it is logical to think you have been designed for this mission because you have the brains to handle it properly. But don't think I won't miss you, oh no! I'll miss you every day and… Oh Tim, do you think we will be able to communicate via the Internet, or by Skype? I don't want us to be estranged because of what happened yesterday morning. I am concerned about you and I couldn't bear six months of silence."

Sincerely moved, McGee reached out and gently took Ziva's hand between his owns.

"Zee, I don't know how the base is organized in Kandahar and, for safety reasons, I won't have an Internet link on my laptop but I am certain the troopers have access to modern technologies to call their families."

"Do you think you could use the MTAC connection?"

"It's not for personal use, Ziva. Abby coaxed me in cracking the MTAC codes so a little boy could speak to his mom based in Afghanistan for Christmas, but once the Kodak moment was over I got in deep trouble with Gibbs. He said he would fire me the next time I'd do such a thing again and I have to admit I deserved it. I shouldn't have obeyed to Abby's _idée fixe_ but I relented, as usual…"

Tim sighed deeply and got on his feet to pour himself another cup of coffee.

"It's hopeless. Either I comply with Abby's whims or not, I always end up getting in trouble with Gibbs. It's a wonder he hadn't showed me the door yet!"

"Tim, as I recall, Gibbs **did** asked you to hack into a few protected sites in the past. You even managed to troll about in the CIA's ultra-secrets files!"

"To _'stroll'_ about, Zee, and it was for a case. Gibbs doesn't mind illegal means as long as he gets results but once work is over, we'd better not fool around with the NCIS toys; otherwise, it could blemish his reputation as an inflexible Team Leader and the one daring to challenge him is as good as dead!"

"Tim…"

McGee sat heavily on his chair in resignation; his green eyes locked on Ziva's smoky-quartz' ones as he said:

"I did challenge Gibbs, Ziva, and I am paying the price. Can you believe he hasn't called me yet? I'm leaving in two days for a mission that may spell my doom but the man I've worked with for eight years is too furious to deign dialing my number. I thought he would at least wish me good luck but apart from you, only Ducky came to my house to say good-bye."

"Ducky was here?"

"Yeah, he dropped by yesterday evening. He arranged for a complete check-up before I leave, and he gave me a list of medical supplies plus some very good advice about how to live in Afghanistan."

"That's marvelous, Tim!"

"Yes, but I would have appreciated Gibbs coming over and sharing some of his experience with me as well. He's ex-Marine, he has seen many battlefields but who am I kidding? Abby got told off by Vance because of my decisions and so, for Gibbs, I have become the Unforgivable One."

Those last words made Ziva raise her eyes from her mug.

"Told off? Tim, it was worse than that."

"What do you mean?"

"Ducky didn't tell you?"

McGee shook his head negatively, and the former Mossad agent suddenly felt awkward. Her friend was obviously unaware about what had happened after he had left NCIS the day before, and Ducky hadn't told Tim anything – probably to not upset him before his departure. Ziva bit at her tongue; she should have kept quiet about Abby but it was too late, the cat was out of the sack… or was it the bag?

"I-I don't know if I should tell you, Tim. On one hand I don't want you to feel guilty because you tend too often to blame yourself for things you are not responsible for, and on the other hand I feel you should know what happened to Abby just in case Gibbs barges in your flat like a charging rhinoceros to punch you on the nose."

"Forewarned is forearmed, Ziva. Please tell me everything, I promise you won't hurt my feelings."

The Israeli woman put her mug back on the kitchen table with a heavy sigh. Alarmed, Jet raised his head while licking its lips after having finished his bowl of _'Doggies Delights'._

"You are a reasonable man, so I'll tell you. Abby got in deep trouble after you left; Vance called her to his office and we could hear him shouting from the bullpen. He was pretty angry at her not only because of the mistake she made about your dog's whereabouts during your absence, but also for her attitude when Jet was brought to NCIS and during your trip to Mexico. I clearly heard Vance calling her ridiculous and unprofessional; Gibbs had been forbidden to interfere so Abby had to face the music alone, without him to defend her like an attorney. All in one, Abby got out of Vance's office in tears and she wailed all the way down to the bullpen about her being suspended for six weeks, without pay. Gibbs gave her his shoulder to cry on, of course, and he escorted her to the lab so she could pick up her stuff before being escorted outside by security staff."

"Oh, God!" said McGee. Appalled by the news, he jumped on his feet and started to pace up and down the kitchen. He knew his departure would deprive Team Gibbs of a computer tech but he would never have imagined it would cause the loss of a Forensics expert as well.

"_**No**_, Tim! You promised you won't get upset and I forbid you to feel responsible about this situation!" exclaimed Ziva firmly, banging her fist on the kitchen table. Spoons jumped inside coffee mugs. "Abby acted wrongly and for once she is facing the consequences of her actions, without Gibbs to protect her or you to take the blame. You have done absolutely no wrongs so don't you ever start thinking otherwise!"

The young woman's fierce expression made McGee smile in spite of the circumstances. Jet left his bowl to sit next to the kitchen table, acting like he wanted to participate to the conversation.

"You talk like Ducky, Zee."

"Well, he's right as rain and so am I! Abby made her bed and now she must lie in it. I like her a lot but she exaggerates too much; didn't you say earlier that you got in trouble with Gibbs after she used MTAC for a personal quest? And of course, she didn't confess the whole matter had been her fault in the first place. Her bulldozing may look funny from the outside, but no-one wants to be in your shoes when Gibbs blames you for her blatant disobedience. She reminds me of a little girl who accuses her big brother of something she had done, and then goes to her room smiling while her parents are busy scolding the innocent boy."

"Sarah never acted like that," muttered Tim.

"Neither did Tali," said Ziva, mentioning her teenage sister who had died in a Hamas suicide bombing, years ago. "Our parents taught us the concept of responsibility and we've learned our lesson well. Abby is so terrified of being wrong that she'd rather accuse another person for her misconduct but what kind of an immature behavior is that? She's not a little girl anymore!"

"But she's Gibbs' favorite and thus, she's allowed to act as she pleases…"

"That's no excuse; that's abuse!"

"And you know how Gibbs feels about apologies."

"Yes, it is a sign of weakness according to him and I have always thought it was crap. My grandmother used to say apologizing is a proof of courage, integrity and good manners; frankly, I'd rather listen to her than to Gibbs on this point! I remember reading in a book a quote that said: _"__It takes a big man to admit when he's wrong…"_"

"…_And an even bigger one to __keep his mouth shut when he's right,"_ completed Tim with a smile. "It was Jim Fiebig who said that."

"Well, since Gibbs never admits he's wrong, it can only mean he'll never be a big man. And you've kept quiet for too long, so you're a bigger man than he is!"

"Ziva…"

"I'm serious, Tim. I've heard a lot of people in NCIS saying you must have been gifted with Job's patience to endure the stress of working with Gibbs and that's no little compliment."

"But you've managed to adapt to Team Gibbs better than me, Ziva," said Tim, remembering his conversation with Ducky. "You have never let Gibbs push you around or Tony to play his hurtful pranks on you."

"A little knife-throwing goes a long way! I've learned this skill before entering Mossad and it had helped me in earning the respect of my male co-workers. After I've been sent to the United States, I knew I'd have to make a show of force at the very beginning to avoid being hazed by my future teammates, so I seized the first opportunity to make a demonstration of my handling of knives. In retrospect, I am certain I did the right thing, otherwise Tony would have bothered the Hell out of me and I am certainly not as patient as you are. I wish I were, though."

"Why?"

"It would have avoided me to make mistakes… Terrible mistakes I've made and I will never be able to correct them but I was too blinded by revenge and hate that I couldn't think straight. But you never break, Tim, not even under the greatest pressure; you always remain calm and concentrated, qualities that both Abby and Tony should envy you instead of goofing around. Look at you; you leave for a war zone without even batting an eyelid! Anyone thinking you weak is nothing but an absolute moron and I will have no fear to say it out loud, not even in front of Gibbs – either he likes it or not."

Tim walked towards Ziva and gave the seated young woman a hug, which was promptly reciprocated. Jet, sensing the female was indeed a friend, decided to seal an alliance with her by a good lick on the nose – which made Ziva smile in spite of the big lump of sorrow blocking her throat: saying good-bye to friends leaving for a perilous mission was never easy as she had done it way too often in the past, only to learn afterwards about their tragic destiny. After a long moment, Tim relinquished his hold and knelt by Ziva's chair:

"Thank you, Ziva. Your sympathy to my cause means a lot."

"Tim, promise me you'll be careful, okay? And stay ultra-concentrated on your project so you'll finish it quickly and then you'll come home early – but that's my selfishness talking. Just be true to yourself in Afghanistan: with your politeness, focusing and intelligence under fire, I am certain you will succeed out there. Wars are not won on guns and bombs only and some extra brainpower can be very helpful to the GIs stationed abroad. You have proven many times you can hold your own in gunfights and, speaking of which…"

Ziva retrieved her backpack and took out an object she presented to McGee. It was a leather sheath holding a combat knife.

"You are quite able with your handgun but I've brought you this, for extra protection."

Tim took the sheath and examined it: the heavy-duty, chestnut-colored leather's surface was scratched in many places, a proof this weapon had travelled often. Only the black handle of the knife was visible and it had been neatly taped. He took the knife out of the sheath and whistled at the sight of its dark, perfectly sharpened blade softly glowing in all it dangerous glory. The young man had followed Ziva's example and had been practicing knife-throwing for years, in spite of Tony's loud proclamations that McGee would never match the woman's prowess. Tim was certainly less skilled than Ziva but over the years, with his usual patience and tenacity, he had managed to reach an acceptable level – and with this weapon, he could make some real damage!

"It's one of mines and now, it belongs to you," said Ziva. "I've sharpened the blade myself, and I wrote a little something on the sheath."

Tim turned over the case, and indeed an inscription reading: _"T. McGee, brother"_ had been engraved on the leather using pyrography technique.

"I have a wood-burning set at home and I wanted to make sure no one would steal it from you in the barracks. Please keep this knife on you all the time; if ever you are attacked, it will give your enemies a shave they'll never forget!" concluded the young woman with a fierce gleam illuminating her dark eyes.

"Oh, Ziva… What can I say? Thank you so much, I am honored you think I'm worthy enough to use one of your blades," said Tim, deeply moved by both the gift and the inscription on the leather sheath.

"You are worthy of **everything**, Timothy McGee, and I daresay some people are finally realizing it at long last. Besides, I refuse to let you go to Afghanistan without any protection and it eases my mind knowing you will have at least one reliable weapon on you during your mission. Tim, I… I want you to know I'm on your side, and not only because of that special project. I may have laughed alongside Tony when he played a mean joke on you, but it was mostly because I didn't know how to react to American 'locker room humor' and besides, you never went angry so I just figured you didn't mind. It's not always easy for an immigrant to understand the mechanisms of a foreign society, and the best way to learn is to sit back and observe. Afterwards, I gained enough confidence to ask Tony to stop his pranks, but to no avail – sometimes I think he needs to act like a stupid prat boy just like he needs air to breathe!"

"I think you mean _'frat'_ boy, Ziva but I understand your position. It mustn't be easy to adapt to a society you were not born in, and our job is a difficult one. You had to fight on both fronts and you deserve acclaims for your accomplishment."

A silence followed this exchange of declaration, and then the TV announced the 7:00 a.m. edition of the national and international news. Ziva let a small sigh escape her lips before standing up and looking at her friend with regretful eyes.

"I have to go to work, Tim. You promise me we'll be in touch?"

"I promise, Ziva."

They hugged again and this time, it lasted much longer. Tim wrapped his arms around the slender form of the ex-Mossad officer who, in return, gently caressed the young man's strong back. It made her remember Tim had lost a lot of weight lately and, apparently, he had converted the fat into muscles with an adapted diet and hours spent at the gym or jogging with Jet. It had been a wise move as he would need to be in shape to endure Afghanistan's hard living conditions. As on cue, Tony had been jealous of McGee's new appearance, mostly because his worse nicknames like _"McFat" _or_ "McTubby"_ had become obsolete but also the ladies at NCIS were making eyes at the computer tech again – leaving Tony behind, especially after some of the said ladies had made it clear they hadn't appreciated his blatant lies about Tim's sexuality.

Tim tightened his embrace on the young woman, thinking how nice it felt to hold her. Ziva had tucked her head beneath his chin and her hair had a flowery scent; her whole body irradiated warmth and strength and her beautiful dove-like eyes were closed as if she wanted to stop time, to make this moment last forever. It was a new sensation for Tim, holding Ziva close as he knew she wasn't a lying, scheming woman like the ones who had dated him only because he were successful author Thom E. Gemcity. It felt like being acquainted with kindness and acceptance for the first time in his life. Ziva was a real friend, a true friend; she liked him for who he was and Tim mentally kicked himself for having lost so much time with self-centered, egotistical, spoiled-child Abby. Had he been cured of his blindness sooner, maybe he and Ziva would have…

The Israeli woman reluctantly broke the embrace and, standing on tiptoes, she kissed Tim on the forehead.

"Go with God, Timothy McGee."

And, without adding another word, Ziva left the apartment in a hurry, trying very hard not to look at the open trunk in the bedroom or to notice the annoying tears that had gathered in her dark eyes.

TBC…


	9. A tension

**Disclaimer**: same as Chapter 1.

**Author's notes:**

- To PrairiecityGirl: I am glad you like the way things are evolving between Tim and Ziva. Now, maybe Tim will actually meet a special woman in Afghanistan, as well! ;-)

- "_300"_ is an American film directed by Zack Snyder, starring Gerald Butler as King Leonidas.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 9: A tension<strong>

Ziva arrived late at work but, for once, she couldn't possibly care less about what Gibbs would say about it. Her sad farewells to Tim had torn her heart and yet, this organ seemed to be thumping faster by some unknown reason. It had started after she had hugged her friend and blessed him before fleeing the flat, not wanting Tim to witness her sorrow caused by his imminent departure.

As a former Mossad officer, Ziva had had her share of painful good-byes and each time, she had managed to keep the tears at bay – but Tim McGee was a different matter. His warm welcome – the only one she had received on her first day at NCIS – had been a ray of sunshine for the young woman, who was aware that walking in a murdered agent's shoes wouldn't be easy, added to the stress of adapting to a foreign society and her own struggles with the language. Gibbs had merely glared at her, Tony had made it clear he resented her presence at Todd's desk; only McGee had been civil towards the newcomer and Ziva had been suspicious of his politeness before she realized it was genuine.

Years had flew by and they had developed a beautiful friendship; Tim had gave her free English lessons and her, in return, had made him discover Israeli cuisine based on fresh vegetables, light meats and fish – making McGee abandon progressively hyper-caloric food, even if he was still found of a 'Nutterbutter' candy bar every now and then. He never cowered in front of danger and he hadn't hesitated to brave unimaginable dangers to rescue her in Somalia, after she had been betrayed and abandoned by her own father. Yes, Tim McGee had evolved into a very good agent with a shining soul... And his diet had turned him into a dreamboat.

Ziva's own heart made a strange flip-flop inside her chest at the recollection of Tim's muscled body so close to her. Gosh, how could she have missed it? The chubby, insecure man had disappeared a lifetime ago and she hadn't seen a thing! Some investigator she was! The young woman felt like slapping herself out of frustration and only the fact she was in a public space stopped her...

The Israeli woman arrived at the bullpen in a hurry and, inevitably, her arrival caught the attention of Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo who was seated at his desk on his favorite position: feet on the furniture, leaning backwards on his chair at the risk of falling over, defying Newton's law of universal gravitation. However, Tony wasn't glued to his cell phone trying to convince his latest girlfriend to go clubbing; in fact, he was moodily looking at the bullpen's TV screens without paying any attention to the agents walking back and forth in the bullpen.

"You're late!"

"Knock it off, Tony, or I'll knock your teeth off!" shot Ziva back. She wasn't in the mood for silly jokes and yesterday's confrontation had made her lean a few things about the Special Agent that she hadn't appreciated _**at-all**_.

The threat made DiNozzo adopt a quick change of attitude; his colleague's abilities in combat fighting were notorious and he rather fancied his million-dollar smile, one of his major charming assets for the ladies.

"Whoa, calm down, ninja girl! The situation is explosive enough and we don't need to be at each other's throat on top of everything."

"You don't want to be strangled? Then keep your remarks to yourself!" snapped the young woman, seating on her office chair after having dropped her backpack on the floor. She fired up her computer and started pouring through her e-mails to make up for her lateness.

Tony remained silent for a while, sensing it wouldn't do any good to point out Ziva's miscomprehension of the idiom. Indeed, the situation looked grim and even DiNozzo – usually impervious to other people's opinions – had to admit Team Gibbs' members weren't in NCIS' good books for the moment. Since he had stepped foot in the bullpen this morning, he had seen agents whispering to one another, snickering softly and glancing mockingly in his general direction. One guy had asked (_"Hey, DiNozzo! How's the hysterical Goth today?"_) and then had left before Tony could have replied; a woman he had been courting for weeks had given him the cold shoulder without bothering to answer to his _"Good morning";_ and, last but not the least, Gibbs hadn't showed up for work yet. All in one, it could prove out to be a very, very long day...

As Senior Agent, Tony was supposed to take over the leader's chores during Gibbs's absence, until Vance would say otherwise; but how on Earth was he supposed to take charge of a crippled team? They were short a computer tech and a forensics expert, Vance wouldn't be sympathetic to their plight and half of NCIS had turned against them. This train of thoughts caused DiNozzo to sigh loudly, making Ziva raise her eyes from her computer screen.

"Now, what?"

"Good grief, Zee-vah, bury the war hatchet already, okay? We're in deep trouble and what we need is a bit of solidarity around here! Abby is suspended, Gibbs is nowhere to be seen, we've become the laughing stock of NCIS and I don't have a clue about what to do. How could things have gone downhill so quickly? Damn McRambo and his stupid idea to go abroad!"

"I knew it!" exclaimed Ziva, throwing her hands heavenwards. "I knew you would blame the whole situation on him! Indeed, McGee has a very responsible position: whenever something goes wrong in our team, he's responsible!"

"But..."

"Be honest with yourself for the first time of your life, Tony: you know that Tim is not responsible for Abby's suspension and denying it only makes you look like an idiot. She got into trouble, yes, and she's got no one to blame for this but herself. Did McGee force her to make such a scene at the bullpen? Did he blackmail her into screaming her head off? Did he coerce her in acting the goat in front of Director Vance? No to all that! Abby should have known better than to behave so stupidly and she'd better learn to control her nerves in the near future if she values her job."

Tony whistled softly between his teeth: "You're damn lucky Boss isn't around to hear you say this. Otherwise, he would head-slap you all the way from here to Tel-Aviv..."

"I'd like to see him try!" growled the ex-Mossad. "Considering the way he had treated Tim recently, I don't feel respectful towards Gibbs right now. He had neither bothered to call McGee nor make amends, can you believe it?"

"Oh, and you did?" shot DiNozzo back. He owned everything to Gibbs – his career at NCIS, his status as Senior Agent – and he didn't like it when people criticized his mentor.

"Yes, and for your information it's the reason why I arrived late for work, Mister. I went to McGee's place early in the morning to give him my support about that special project of his; I even apologized for my past attitude and guess what? He wasn't crossed at me, not for a second! I admitted having behaved stupidly, like laughing at your pranks or whenever I disregarded his safety and yet, Tim doesn't hold a grudge against me... And that tells a lot about his forgiveness. We don't deserve such a nice, competent colleague and it's no wonder he has been spotted by an army bigwig. Instead of blaming McGee, you should praise his courage for going into a war zone!"

"What the big fuss about it?" grumbled DiNozzo, a bit vexed. "I went to Iraq once!"

"Yes, and I know exactly **how **you were granted that mission," said Ziva severely before returning her attention to her e-mails.

Tony sulked on his office chair; in retrospect, he wasn't feeling proud of his past actions towards his colleague. Tim had trusted his advice and had stepped down about volunteering for Iraq, just to assist to Tony's triumph after he had been chosen for the mission. Deliriously happy for having won the prize, Tony had ignored the look of pain on the kid's face. In fact, he had realized the errors of his ways only after his return to the US, basking in the glow of a dangerous job well done: he had received a harsh head-slap from Gibbs for having misled his partner and his skull had hurt for a week from having broken Rule no. 1; however, the idea of apologizing had never crossed his mind. Besides, McGee hadn't mentioned the betrayal after Tony came back to NCIS and the Senior Agent had thought his colleague had forgotten about the whole thing...

Boy, had he ever been wrong! Tim had been hurting from an invisible, festering wound caused by callousness but the long-suffering man hadn't said a word about it, as usual. And yet, fed up from waiting in vain for an apology, Tim had come to the inevitable conclusion that he would never earn Tony's respect and thus, he had given up on their partnership. No wonders going to a war zone had more appeal to him than working with Tony DiNozzo!

Out of the blue, McGee's angry words came back to haunt the Senior Agent with a vengeance:

"_You're an opportunist, Tony."_

"_You walk over friends for a chance to prove the world you're a super agent."_

"_You lied to me. You deliberately lied to me!"_

This recollection made Tony to turn his back on Ziva, not wanting the woman to see the angry expression on his face. No, thought the Senior Agent in denial, it hadn't been his fault! McGee had been a stuttering, nervous, shy probationary agent and it had been Tony's duty to 'wise up' the Probie. Sure, his methods left much to be desired: stupid pranks like super-gluing Tim's fingers to his keyboard, volunteering him for the dangerous grunt work, calling him names in public, ridiculing his hobbies, outmaneuvering him for the mission in Iraq, forcing him to buy video games to a thieving kid… But even if he had received a considerable number of head-slaps from Gibbs, Tony also never received the order to stop his taunts and thus, he had thought the Leader actually approved of him.

How was Tony to know McGee would be too weak to endure the training? Crime investigating wasn't for wimps and Tim had proved to be a burden in the field, more than once. Not to forget that stupid sensitivity of his! According to DiNozzo, real men didn't give a damn about sentiments: they had to be tough, inconsiderate, efficient, smart-mouthed and they bedded any skirt available in order to prove their virility – like those super-muscled Greek soldiers in the _"300"_ movie. Tim's steadfast refusal to adopt this philosophy had somehow insulted Tony, fuelling his hazing to the maximum and, as a result, the computer tech had quit the team without any regrets.

Tony gritted his teeth as his vanity reminded him the humiliation of having being called an unreliable partner in the conference room. The nerve of Probie, calling him like that! Gibbs had once said he wished Tony were his son and this compliment had boosted the young man's ego to the stratosphere, making him feel the all-time winner of the Oscar for Best NCIS Agent. But Tim's accusations had made him fall ten miles through the air before landing on the hard ground of reality and Tony couldn't forgive this blatant destruction of his pristine self-image.

"You have said your good-byes to McGeek, Ziva, but I will certainly not do so," said Tony, facing the young woman again. "Since I'm not good enough for him, there is no point for me in wishing him well. He's going to make a fool out of himself in Afghanistan and he'll be repatriated within a week with his head bowed, after having spectacularly botched the special mission he's so proud of. And it will serve him right, too!"

A scandalized Ziva opened her mouth to protest but a 'ding' preceding the opening of elevator's doors stopped her short: Leroy Jethro Gibbs entered the bullpen, his face set in granite and his fists clenched. The conversations inside the bullpen instantly stopped and all the other agents turned about to look at the Team Leader with ironic, disapproving or resentful eyes. This situation made Gibbs to glare laser-like at his surroundings but, for once, the effect failed to impress people; in fact, the NCIS agents seemed to have developed overnight an immunization against the infamous blue gaze that had made so many truants quack in their shoes.

"WHAT?" shouted Gibbs like a wounded lion but the only reactions were a few shrugged shoulders before the other agents went back to business. Ziva looked around and silently prayed for this outburst to remain unnoticed in spite of the circumstances: they were already in trouble and the last thing they needed was an official complaint from their co-workers.

The silver-haired man sat heavily at his desk and barked at the ex-Mossad officer:

"You were late for work this morning, David."

"So are you," answered Ziva back. She wasn't surprised by Gibbs' knowing her lateness (it was rumored he had extrasensory perception, ESP for short) but she was still moved by her conversation with Tim and therefore, she couldn't endure her boss' remarks with her usual respect.

"I had good reasons! Abby has been a mess yesterday and she called me at five o'clock this morning because she was crying. I haven't slept a wink all night and I won't take insolence lightly, got it?"

"So… Abby's still upset by what happened?" asked Tony in the hopes a change of subject would defuse the situation.

"Of course she is, DiNozzo! What did you expect?" barked Gibbs.

"Oh, er… Well, sure being stuck at home isn't pleasant, but at least she has a lot of time in front of her to watch movies," said DiNozzo lightly, flashing his best smile to his boss. "Say, that's an idea! Why don't we organize a movie night at her place? I'll bring the DVDs and the popcorn; Ziva will make that vegetarian pizza Abby loves so much and we could invite Ducky and the Autopsy Gremlin. I am sure it will cheer Abby up and she'll forget her suspension in a snap!"

"DiNozzo, that's the most stupid thing I've ever heard – and stop grinning like that, you look ridiculous. Abby's in pieces, can you understand that? I spent hours trying to calm her down; she talked about resigning, joining a nunnery, tagging along a rock band and she even mentioned trekking in the Rocky Mountains bare-footed. I had to dry her tears, prepare her dinner and the only thing that prevented her to act rashly had been my solemn promise I would talk to Vance first thing in the morning to re-instate her."

"You're going to do this?" asked Ziva anxiously. She had spotted Leon Vance watching them from the mezzanine and, considering the frown on the man's face, it couldn't bode anything good for the remaining members of Team Gibbs.

"Yes, I am, David! You got a problem with it?" asked Gibbs menacingly.

"I'm not sure it's a wise idea, because right now Vance is looking at us with his mad face on!" said the young woman with a meaningful glance upwards.

Tony and Gibbs turned about and indeed, the Director was watching them with the unforgiving eyes of a bird of prey getting ready to swoop at helpless mice trying desperately to hide in a corn field. Tony let out a small groan, wondering whatever he had done this morning to deserve a round of reprimands from the Big Boss but Gibbs remained unmoved, his ice-blue eyes silently challenging his superior.

"Gibbs, DiNozzo! My office, _**now!**_" roared the Director. "No, not you, David!"

"Why not me?" asked Ziva in bewilderment. She had stood up to accompany her teammates upstairs but Vance's orders had made her stop on her tracks.

"Yeah, why not her?" echoed Tony.

"Because I said so David, and save the lip, DiNozzo: you're in deep trouble!"

And with that last retort, the Director slammed his office door behind him, leaving no chances for Team Gibbs to try figuring out what further catastrophes would befall them. The silver-haired man clenched his jaw and climbed the stairs four steps at a time, followed closely by his Senior Agent who was smiling to no-one in particular but this clumsy attempt to hide his nervousness didn't fool anyone.

* * *

><p>Minutes later, Gibbs and Tony were in Vance's office, standing to attention like good soldiers. The Director didn't offer them to sit down and it wasn't surprising, considering their less-than-amiable attitude towards their co-worker the day before but Gibbs had made up his mind: he was not going to admit McGee's departure was his fault. The computer tech should have talked to him instead of bottling up his resentment for years; it was common knowledge in NCIS that Gibbs never locked his house's front door and he always agreed to listen to 'his kids' while sanding boats in the basement, whenever the job got too hard to endure. Sure, Tony was a loudmouth, Ziva threatened people too often and Abby crossed the line without a second thought, but those trifles didn't give McGee the right to destroy the team!<p>

Leon Vance looked at the two men in front of him. Gibbs, full of barely-contained rage; DiNozzo, desperately trying to find a way to save his own skin; well, that was expected but the Director had a trump card in his sleeve and it was time to play it. With luck, it would create a shockwave that would stun these two troublemakers and give McGee the chance to leave the US without getting his ears filled with unjustified reproaches.

"Last night, Agent McGee came back to the bullpen in order to finish clearing his computer files," started the Director. "He was prevented to do so during normal office hours, thanks to Miss Sciuto's outburst but Agent McGee apparently couldn't leave for Afghanistan without leaving an impeccable workplace, which tells a lot about his professionalism…"

"Leon," growled Gibbs between his teeth, his patience already wearing thin. "I am not here to talk about McGee. I want you to re-instate Abby in…"

"He also took the time to clean up his desk," continued Vance, ignoring the interruption. "After all, leaving for a dangerous mission was the perfect opportunity for him to get rid of souvenirs cluttering his drawers… and his mind. I discreetly observed Agent McGee last night and, after he left, I took a peek at the things he had thrown into the wastebasket. At first glance, it was the usual junk – old pens and pencils, torn pieces of paper, old Post-it notes and all the rest of it. However, one item caught my attention and I took the liberty to take it out of the trash."

Tony glanced anxiously at Gibbs, who remained stony-faced, and then the younger man let out a small sigh of relief after he realized the item in question was a simple greeting card displaying the picture of a sailboat.

"Yes, Agent DiNozzo, it's a card. To be precise, a Thank-you card that was written shortly after Agent Todd had been shot. Remember that day?"

Tony swallowed noisily as an icy shiver ran along his spine. He would never forget that fateful day where one of his best friends had been murdered before his eyes. Kate had been the victim of a rogue Mossad agent after the man had failed to kill McGee and Tony had been lost in a blur of hate and outrage; he had even felt rancorous towards the Probie, feeling it unjust he had gotten out of this mess unhurt while Kate had paid her courageous actions with her life. After all, McGee had remained safely in the street, behind a car, while Kate had been on the rooftop, a position that had exposed her to the killer's bullets.

"What's that has to do with us, Leon?" said Gibbs harshly.

"Everything, Agent Gibbs," shot Vance back. "Now, you are going to stay quiet while I read you the contents of this card and be warned that a single interruption will cost you both your badges, are we clear? Okay, there goes: _"Detested terrorist…"_"

Tony felt his face turn pale at every word the Director was reading. It was true both Gibbs and he had told McGee about owning a card to Ari Haswari, but he would never have thought the computer tech would actually write it. On top of everything, the card had been kept in Tim's desk drawers for years and Tony never noticed it, no matter how many times he had rummaged through his colleague's personal things just to play a prank. This angst-filled note had been right under his nose and Tony had missed it!

As for Gibbs, he was certainly floored by the revelations contained in this simple card. With hindsight, he couldn't understand what had possessed him to say such a stupid thing to McGee. Every member of Team Gibbs had been profoundly affected by Kate's demise but the computer tech had taken it harder than the others, considering he had been Haswari's primary target and only sheer luck had spared his life. It was also the first time McGee had seen a teammate killed in action and, without military or police experience, the poor kid had to endure a tidal wave of survivor's guilt that had nearly destroyed him. As usual, Gibbs and Tony hadn't considered, not for a minute, to comfort McGee: the only thing that had mattered at the time had been to find Kate's killer. After Ziva had arrived at NCIS, Tim had been the only one to greet her and Gibbs had simply thought the young man had gotten over his grief.

"_Gibbs and Tony will remind me that I should have killed instead of her. Kate's death is a terrible loss while mine would have been a small matter. Secret Services' agents are much more difficult to replace than geeks…"_

Oh no, no, no! That wasn't possible! Gibbs would have accused Vance to have written this card's message if he hadn't known the man was a model of integrity. McGee had actually thought his death would have counted for nothing? That his teammates would have rather seen him dead instead of Kate? It was a frightening thought and it took every amount of self-control Gibbs possessed to not explode right there and then in this spacious office.

""_If I sound bitter, it's because I am. Sincerely, Special Agent Timothy McGee,"_ concluded the Agency's Director. "Well, gentlemen, what do you have to say for yourself?"

Silence only answered him. For the life of him, Tony couldn't find a way to talk his way out of this mess. His first reaction would have been to blame McGee, as usual (after all, he was the one who had written this incriminating card) but being insincere had its limits: Tony couldn't deny this sorrowful message had been carefully hidden from prying eyes and only bad luck had made it drop into the Director's hands. As for Gibbs, for the first time in years he actually felt ashamed: he had used the pain caused by Kate's death to lash out at innocent McGee because he damn well knew the kid wouldn't reply. Furthermore, the Team Leader had left his youngest agent on his own in a time of great distress and Tim had used his undeniable writing talent to express not only his grief over his friend's death, but also for having being abandoned by the very same persons who were supposed to have his six anytime.

"Nothing, Leon," said Gibbs with a sigh.

"And you, Agent DiNozzo?"

"Look, Sir, I don't know what went through McGee's mind but… Well, I didn't mean for him to take my words so personally! It was just a way for me to say he had been at a hair's breadth to become one of Ducky's patients instead of Kate… This idea of a card, well, it was just a joke to help me in dealing with her death, you see? But McGee has no humor and…"

"Can it, DiNozzo!" interrupted Gibbs. "I said that stupid thing about a Thank-you card in the first place and you repeated it like a parrot. You and I knew McGee was having a bad case of survivor's guilt and we overlooked his needs."

"Indeed, Agent Gibbs," said the frowning Director.

"Oh, come on, Boss! I went down to the morgue to give McGee a shoulder to cry on and it should have done the trick for him to get over Kate's death. If he falls apart whenever someone is killed, then I'd hate to imagine how he will react in Afghanistan!"

"ENOUGH!" thundered Vance. "Agent DiNozzo, since you have obviously not acquainted any teamwork skills in spite of having worked in a Federal agency for years, you will be brought before a review board to determine if you have truly the requested qualities to be a field agent. Same thing for you, Gibbs: you seem unable to separate the wheat from the chaff and I am getting seriously doubtful about your leadership. You wanted me to re-instate Miss Sciuto in her functions, regardless of the scandal she has made and her wild accusations towards McGee, weren't you? Well, it is not going to happen in this lifetime. Sanctions against Miss Sciuto are maintained and if you want to turn in your badge, be my guest. I won't have my authority questioned because you happen to favor an employee over another. In the meantime, you and your team are in charge of filling electronic archives and it'll give you the opportunity to appreciate the work done by computer techs, instead of calling them weaklings and gays just because you can't resist showing off your alleged superiority; did you understand that last point clearly, Agent DiNozzo?"

"Y-Yes, Sir…"

"That's good, because I was beginning to think you used your head only to grow hair on it! Now get out of my sight, the both of you, and call Miss Sciuto to tell her that her pitiful attempt to erase her goof has failed. And by the way, you are on duty for the whole weekend."

"What?" exclaimed Gibbs.

"But why?" moaned Tony, who had planned to spend the two next days in company of Tamara.

"Because I don't want you to go at McGee's place and accuse him for being responsible for what is happening to you. You are the only ones answerable for your actions and you are going to deal with it like the professionals you are supposed to be. And if you **ever** mention this card to Agent David, I will personally kick your ass out of NCIS!"

TBC…


	10. An explanation

**Disclaimer**: same as Chapter 1.

**Author's notes:**

- I'm sorry for the delay in posting this chapter: a big bad thunderstorm prevented me to do so yesterday evening! *Sigh* :o(

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 10: An explanation<strong>

It was Friday night but for once, Anthony DiNozzo Jr. wasn't at a bar buying drinks to a big-breasted, long-legged blonde while monopolizing the conversation for the entire evening with his exploits as a world-famous Federal Agent who could beat James Bond to his own game by a thousand miles. In fact, Tony had abandoned his usual cocky self and it had left him to sit alone on his couch, staring without looking at the John Wayne movie on TV while the pizza he had ordered one hour ago was left untouched on the coffee table, along with the beer he had taken picked up in the kitchen. An outside observer could imagine Tony was making an imitation of a zombie from the horror movies he enjoyed so much and it would have been a good guess: the young man's mind had gone completely blank after the meeting with Vance and since then, he had been incapable to do a single thing: he had worked on autopilot all day, skipped lunch in spite of his empty stomach's growls, ignored the snickering of other NCIS agents and he hadn't even noticed Ziva's concerned look after Gibbs and he had come down from the Director's office.

Both men had remained silent about the meeting, especially McGee's writing to her rogue half-brother: Vance had been very clear about what would become of their respective careers if they ever talked about the Thank-you card. But Ziva was far from stupid; she didn't need to ask thousands of questions to understand something bad had been mentioned during this meeting... Something her teammates were keeping quiet around her and the only logical conclusion was it involved her family; since Ziva had cut off all links with her betraying father and both her mother and sister were dead, the only remaining "suspect" could have been Ari and his involvement in the death of Kate Todd. Ziva had remained pensive for the rest of the day but Tony, lost in his own misery, hadn't thought for a minute about trying to cheer up his co-worker.

A review board. He would have to appear in front of a review board! That was a disgrace! Tony felt furious and humiliated. For years, DiNozzo had bragged loudly about Gibbs considering him as _"his best agent"_ and since the team was known for its high crime-solving rate, Tony had thought it could only mean he was the undisputed star of NCIS and he would shine in all his glory at the Agency' firmament after Gibbs' official retirement. But with a few words, the Director had destroyed Tony's illusions: according to the Director, he lacked teamwork skills and that made him unsuitable as a field agent. The review board members would examine his file from cover to cover but they would also ask questions around and some incidents would inevitably resurface, like loud name-callings, stupid pranks and the matter of a certain mission in Iraq…

Gosh, this whole business could spell a suspension for Tony, even a demotion! The loss of his title would annihilate him; being a Federal Agent was his reason for living and DiNozzo had never forgotten what he owned to Gibbs. Without his input, the young man would have remained a Baltimore cop for the rest of his life, without any hopes for promotion since his big mouth had made him lost his superiors' esteem almost since the very beginning.

Tony had hoped for a word of comfort from Gibbs but the silver-haired man had not uttered a single word all day and a disheartened Tony had left NCIS feeling very low. And, on top of everything, he had had to phone Tamara and cancel their hot date; she had been furious and she called him a pathological liar after Tony had tried to explain that Team Gibbs was on duty all weekend. Tamara had told him to not bother call her back and she had rated his sexual performances as _"a few points above 'miserable' and a big fat waste of my time!"_

Tony gulped loudly and grabbed a slice of pizza on the coffee table; he took a bite of it and made a face: bleah, it had gone cold. He took a swing at the beer can, and made another grimace: ungh, it was too warm. Great, his troubled mind was making him doing a lousy imitation of 'Goldilocks and the three bears'!

The phone rang and Tony forgot pizza and drink to answer it, thinking it was Gibbs calling to tell him he had spoken to Vance and the threat of the review board was over. But one look at the phone's screen crushed the young man's hopes: it was Abby.

"Yeah?" asked Tony in a sullen tone.

"_Tony! Where are you?"_

The indignant question made DiNozzo raise his eyebrows: where did Abby think he was, since she had called his home number?

"Well, I am at home. Why do you ask?"

"_Because you are supposed to be my friend, that's why! And friends support one another, especially during a life-shattering crisis. I've always considered you as my big brother, Tony, and now you are abandoning me in a time of great distress! Why haven't you called me since yesterday?"_

Tony inwardly groaned: caught up in his own fears for his future, he had completely forgotten to phone Abby. Any attempt to call her wouldn't have been welcomed the day before, not with Gibbs at her place trying to calm her down. In the morning, Tony's idea about organizing a movie night at Abby's had been labeled as 'stupid' by the Team Leader and the young man knew better than to argue with his mentor. DiNozzo had then run out of ideas and the threat of the review board had blocked his mind from the rest of the world, including a Goth culture-addict who was usually found in the Forensics Lab of NCIS.

"Look, I have some troubles of my own, too. Vance…"

"_What's the message here?" _screamed Abby's voice at the other end of the line._ "Are __**my**__ troubles less important than __**your**__ troubles because I'm a lab rat and you're a federal agent? That's it?"_

"What? NO!" exclaimed the young man, completely thrown off by the accusation. "It has nothing to do with you! But something happened to me this morning and…"

"_And it was more important than calling me. I'm here, all alone at home, with a beautiful career in shambles and my friends don't even bother to ask how do I feel. I feel terrible, I look awful, I'm losing my mind and nobody cares!"_

"How can you say that, Abby? Gibbs is on your side and that's no small matter; have you forgotten already that he stayed with you all day yesterday to hold your hand?"

"_No, I haven't! But he also promised he would convince Vance to get me re-instated, and he hasn't called me yet. It wouldn't take him this long to talk to Vance, now, would it? I'm the best Forensics expert NCIS could ever dream of so the decision would have been made in a snap! But I wait and wait by the phone like a fool, and nothing happens."_

"Have you tried calling him?"

"_Of course! But he doesn't answer his mobile or his home phone. I've tried NCIS but some busybody of a receptionist told me I wasn't allowed to call the office until my suspension is finished, and if I insisted she would make a report!"_

"Abby, it is unusual from Gibbs to not answer his phone and, considering what happened this morning, it can only mean two things: either he has forgotten to recharge his phone but that's highly unlikely, or he is getting ready to explode any minute and, in that case, even you don't want to be around him when it happens."

"_Explode? What on Earth are you talking about?"_

"If you had let me talk, you would know by now! Vance called Gibbs and me to his office first thing in the morning. Long story short, he has given us both a roasting and I am due to save my skin in front of a review board. As for Gibbs, Vance told him he doesn't seem to know how to manage our team so there is a good chance he will be reviewed as well – and that's probably the reason why he hasn't called you yet."

"_What? But that's insane! Gibbs is great, the best agent NCIS has ever had!" _screamed Abby.

"Yeah, well, the imminent departure of McAfghanistan has made ripples within the Agency. Some people must have been babbling behind our backs and stuff that should have been kept between us has come out in the open."

"_Stuff like what?"_

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose, thinking carefully about what he was going to tell Abby. A single _faux pas_ could spell his professional doom before he even had a chance to plan his defense for the review board, since she had the discretion of an elephant throwing a fit in a china shop and some subjects were way too sensitive to mention, especially the one about a certain Thank-you card.

"Oh well, about me calling McGee names, making jokes, this kind of things. All this was for his own good, since he was too much of a softie to endure the work we do at NCIS, and yet Vance considers my toughening McGee as a lack of teamwork skills, can you believe it? I'm Senior Field Agent and I've managed the team to the perfection during Gibbs' time in Mexico, I can't be considered as incompetent!"

"_You are not telling me the whole truth, Tony. Vance wouldn't drag you in front of a review board just for a few lousy jokes and mean pranks. What is it you are hiding from me?"_

"It's personal, okay?" shot Tony back, getting increasingly annoyed by the conversation. "I don't have to tell you everything about my life. Just know I've done a few things that have displeased Vance and he's making a big deal out of it."

"_I want to know, Tony! What has Vance got against you, exactly?"_

"Hey! I'm the one who is allowed to conduct interrogations, not you! As Senior Field Agent…"

"_Dammit, Tony, when will you ever stop showing off your title like a medal? For your information, there are about 150 other Senior Field Agents in NCIS!"_

"You are the one telling about showing off?" roared DiNozzo on the phone, staggered by Abby's cheek. "That's a good one, considering the way you boast about yourself all over the neighborhood. Heck, all D.C. knows you are Gibbs' favorite!"

"_TONY!"_

DiNozzo cringed under the overdose of decibels he was receiving in his left ear. The conversation had taken a nasty turn and ten-to-one Abby would call Gibbs to complain about him as soon as he would hang up the phone, a situation that required imminent damage control – otherwise, the review board would look like a walk in the park compared to the Team Leader's ire.

"Abby, I'm sorry. It has been a long day and everybody is very upset by McGee's desertion. I wanted to call you yesterday but Gibbs was with you and we knew it wasn't a good time. I suggested organizing a movie session at your place tonight to make you forget about your suspension and the Boss-man brushed off my idea, stating you weren't in any kind of shape to have visitors. Then Vance chewed us a new one this morning and I am still in shock about the review board; I've been racking my brains ever since to find out what kind of wrongs I could have done, but so far I haven't found a thing. I can't be blamed for using humor at work, now, can I? What's wrong with joking and playing pranks to help us endure the dead bodies we see weekly? But I am ready to bet McWhiner has complained to his fellow geeks down at Cyber Crimes and those blabbermouths must have rat me out to Vance. Well, I am not going to be demoted from my position because of a few weaklings, no Sir! I'll show the review board I have all the requested qualities to be Senior Agent and…"

"_But what about me?"_ interrupted Abby.

The question left DiNozzo speechless for the record time of ten seconds: "What about you?"

"_Yes, me! You've said earlier Gibbs has failed in convincing Vance to cancel my suspension, so what I am going to do?"_

"Well, you are going to do your six weeks and then, you'll be back at NCIS. Now, about the review board…"

"_Six weeks? But I can't stay home for six weeks, I have to work! Vance has taken away my pay as well!"_

"If you need a bridge loan, you'll just have to ask Gibbs. I am certain he'll be happy to help you. Ziva and I will lend you some cash, as well. But about the review…"

"_You haven't listened to a word I've said, have you? I **can't** stay at home! I wanna go back to work, right **now**!"_

Tony was starting to see red; obviously, Abby wasn't going to listen to his troubles and her self-centered attitude was beginning to grate on his already wound-up nerves. Besides, what on Earth was she hoping for, a sudden change of heart from Vance? Considering the way she had behaved at the bullpen, Abby could count herself lucky to have kept her job.

"Abby, Gibbs can't get you back in until your suspension is over so you'd better get used to the idea! No one can help you, not even the Boss-man – otherwise, you would have been re-instated a long time ago. But you can't ask Gibbs to make miracles, he's only a man after all; he can't even help me to avoid the review board, for crying out loud!"

"_You are only concerned by yourself!"_ accused Abby.

"Ah! Look who's talking."

The sharp sound of a suddenly disconnected line answered Tony's last jibe, and the young man put down his phone with a heavy sigh. Great, just great! He had managed to piss off Abby and he would automatically be added to the long list of complains she would present to Gibbs at his next visit. Tony would be wise to wear a helmet for a few weeks, because no doubts the silver-haired man would have the mother of all head-slaps put by for his Senior Field Agent.

Tony grabbed another slice of pizza and munched at it furiously, regardless of its cold state. While he was doing this, the idea that McGee's disappointment over Abby was justified started to germinate in a small corner of his mind.

* * *

><p>"Here you go, Jimmy; one beer, fresh out of the fridge."<p>

"Thanks, Tim. I hope you don't mind receiving me so late…"

"Not at all, Jimmy; it's always nice to see a friendly face."

Tim had been genuinely surprised by Jimmy Palmer showing up at his doorstep in the evening, but it had been a welcome visit after a long day that had involved a long check-up at his doctor's, multiple errands and painful letters to his parents and Sarah. He even had to leave Jet at Andy's with his basket, his favorite toys and enough dog food to last for a whole year. Andy had assured him over and over again that Jet would be treated like a member of his family and Tim knew he could trust his friend but it had hurt deeply to walk back to his car while Jet, sensing his master was leaving him behind, had let out a low, mournful whine as if he were crying. And Tim had spent the rest of the day trying very hard to not fall apart from the memory of Jet's sad eyes playing through his mind while packing the rest of his stuff in his trunk. Jimmy's visit had been a godsend!

The Assistant M.E. drank from the beer's bottle as Tim offered peanuts and potato chips in Mexican bowls. He placed the recipients on the coffee table and Jimmy munched on a chip before asking:

"So, er… You're all packed and ready to go, Tim?"

McGee suppressed a smile at his friend's not-so-subtle-attempt to speak in a casual tone; it was clear Jimmy was upset by his imminent departure and he was trying hard to not show it – but he was failing miserably, judging from the way his eyes were shining behind his rounded glasses.

"Yes, I'm ready. I've managed to buy all the computer items I'll need abroad, I've written to my family and Jet is safe at Andy's. The doctor gave me a clean bill of health and I received a lot of good advice from Ducky about life in Afghanistan. With his input and the books I've already read about this country, I should manage to survive out there."

"Yes, that's g-good," stuttered Jimmy, wiping his mouth clean with the back of his hand. "Yes, v-very good because you must know how to f-face any kind of situation out there; I mean, with the a-attacks against the allied forces and all this…"

"Jimmy, I'll be fine."

"I-I know, Tim! I-I just… Oh God! I probably look like an idiot r-right now, but…"

"You're not."

The gentle statement had a soothing effect on the nervous Assistant M.E., who looked at his host with grateful eyes. Tim had often thought Palmer was another unfortunate member of the Underestimated by Team Gibbs' Club and that ridiculous nickname of 'Autopsy Gremlin' was as insulting as it was demeaning. Jimmy dealt with corpses all day long, some of them reduced to a pitiful state and this kind of job wasn't for the faint-hearted. He could endure the sight of severed heads, missing limbs, gross-looking cadavers without vomiting and, under Ducky's patient tutelage, the young man had grown into a fine coroner just a few months shy from receiving his diploma from a prestigious medical school. He deserved better than being asked to get lost by Gibbs whenever the older man barged in at the morgue in a bad mood to ask for results. During his first years at NCIS, Jimmy had been literally terrified by Gibbs and he had desperately tried to fit in the group, even if it had meant siding with Tony for his stupid pranks against McGee and it wasn't something the young man was not overly proud of.

Jimmy remembered too clearly the day when he had laughed with DiNozzo about comparing Tim splashing into a pool filled with polluted water with a similar situation found in an _"I love Lucy"_ episode. As a medical man, Jimmy should have raised objections about a Federal Agent being ordered to endanger his health in a HAZMAT situation instead of twaddle about a TV show; later, he had confessed his mistake to Ducky but the M.E. had stated he had been much more at fault than Jimmy in this matter and that both of them had been lucky McGee had gotten out of that pool unhurt; otherwise, Ducky would have been forced to retire and Palmer's medical career would have ended before it had even started. After this incident, Jimmy had inwardly sworn he wouldn't let his attention wander on crime scenes and report immediately to Ducky if Gibbs was overlooking safety procedures, no matter how many glares he would receive from the Team Leader afterwards.

""Did you want to wish me well, Jimmy?"

"Well, actually, I-I came to see you for… Er, I came here to… Yes, I did come to your place because… Like, it was for… You see, the idea was to…"

"You decided to bid me good-bye and that's the reason why you are currently sitting on my couch, right?" asked McGee, trying to help his friend. Poor Jimmy still had issues with speaking out loud and Tim knew from experience that rushing shy persons was the best way to make them feel confused and embarrassed.

"Yes, that's r-right! But I also wanted to… Well, to…. Oh, to Hell with it! I w-wanted you to have this," said Jimmy as he handed out a small rectangular box covered with stripped black-and-silver paper.

Tim took the gift with trembling hands and carefully tore open the wrapping, revealing a brand-new MP3 Player with earphones neatly stacked next to it. McGee took out the electronic device and pressed the "Power on/off" button: the color screen immediately came to life, revealing its multiple functions as a pocket-sized media centre: music and video recorders, radio, Dictaphone, playlists and photo album, all the needed applications to carry one's favorite souvenirs everywhere.

"Oh Jimmy, you shouldn't have," said Tim.

"Oh y-yes, I should!" said the Assistant M.E. around a mouthful of peanuts. "It'll be useful for y-you in Afghanistan… Well, at least, I hope so… I mean, I didn't know if your Smartphone will work abroad and you would be s-sad if you couldn't listen to music for months, or look at your favorite photos – and, after Ducky t-told me you were working on a secret project, I realized y-you wouldn't be allowed to keep your f-favorite music on your l-laptop."

"Thank you, Jimmy. This is very thoughtful of you."

"Please, it-it's nothing; I know music is important to you, you've m-mentioned once that it helped you to concentrate w-when you write your b-books so I f-figured it could be useful for your project as w-well. J-Just don't keep music by D-David Hasselhof in it!" concluded Jimmy in a poor attempt of humor.

Tim had a small smile at the recollection of Tony's return from Paris; the Senior Agent had given expensive presents for Abby, Ziva and the rest of the team but, when it had come to McGee's turn, Tony had simply handed out a CD of songs interpreted by TV actor David Hasselhoff, something he had found at the 'Sale' corner of an airport's gift shop – as revealed by the price tag still sticking to the jewel case. Tony had tried to justify his lousy present by stating David Hasselhoff had been a great star of the _Knight Rider_ show and listening to his songs would greatly improve his partner's mass-media culture. Tim had hidden his disappointment, thanked Tony but once he had gotten home, the CD had ended in the trash bin.

"I will certainly not damage your nice present with cheap music, Jimmy. Be assured I will treasure this walkman for years, after the mission in Afghanistan is over."

"I-I am glad you like it, Tim. I would have loved to d-do more but with this short notice…"

"You have done a lot more than others, Jimmy, and I would like to seize this occasion to apologize to you."

"To **me**?" asked the young man, spitting chips' crumbs out of stupefaction. "But why? You haven't done anything wrong."

Tim let out a sigh, and then looked at Palmer in the eyes: "My books, remember? I know you don't like the _"Pimmy Jalmer"_ name I gave to the Assistant M.E. in my fiction. I also know you didn't appreciate the fact I based characters on real people – namely, my colleagues and it included you. And, thanks to my lack of imagination, a madman quickly found out which persons at NCIS were described by author Thom E. Gemcity. As a result, two men lost their lives and Abby got caught in the crossfire. I thought Gibbs was going to strangle me on the spot for involuntary endangering her! But Landon could have targeted you and you wouldn't have been able to do anything since you don't carry guns. Gosh, I would never have forgiven myself if any harm had befallen on you because of my books…"

"**You stop right here, Timothy McGee!**" exclaimed Jimmy with a sudden vehemence, his stuttering forgotten in his anger. "You are not responsible for Landon's actions. The guy was a psychopath coupled with a perfect idiot! He was so caught up in his fantasy that he targeted innocent people that didn't fit in his world, and he had been stupid enough to try and attack a woman employed by a Federal Agency. I mean, how much dumber could he get? He didn't even think for a minute that Abby would be under heavy protection detail and that's another proof, among many others, that he hadn't been a very attentive reader of your books."

"What do you mean?"

"I admit having been crossed at you for a while, but Ducky said a work of art should be studied and understood before forming an opinion so he advised me to read _"Deep Six"_. I wouldn't hear any of it, of course, but in the end I relented and guess what? I truly loved your book! It was really well-written and the plot was fantastic, but what struck me the most was the way how you described your characters as tight-knitted professionals who can handle hard cases in spite of their differences. Landon completely overlooked this and got a bad case of hero-worshipping towards McGregor, just proving he was nothing but a feeble-minded psychopathic groupie who should have gotten a life. Besides, there is a warning printed on page three of every novel including yours, isn't it? _"All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental"_. Landon should have paid attention to this sentence instead of skimming through your books to avoid reading what he didn't want to see. Good grief! Thousands of books are printed every day, hundreds of movies are made each year, and their authors cannot be held responsible whenever a moron acts the fool because he or she can't make the difference between reality and fiction. Otherwise, books and movies would have been banned centuries ago and we would be living in a sad world, indeed!"

"Especially for Tony," said Tim, remembering his colleague's love for the cinematograph.

"But like every criminal, Landon made a major mistake: he targeted **you**, forgetting that you are way smarter than him. It took you only a few hours to figure out who he was, where he knew you from and who his next target would be; it allowed Gibbs to set up a trap before Landon would go in another murdering rampage. Any other author would have cowered in fear or trying to save a way out of this mess, but not Thom E. Gemcity: he stepped up, took charge of the case, confronted the psycho and shouldered responsibilities that weren't even his. Well, let me tell you this: I am a great fan of this writer and I-I am sorry I got so mad at him without even k-knowing what his books were about!" said Jimmy, his stuttering coming back as his anger towards Landon progressively deflated.

"What about that awful fictional name a certain Assistant M.E. got in the process?"

"Well, s-sure I would have preferred s-something cooler than _"Pimmy Jalmer"_… Like _"Dr. House" _or _"Doctor Daniel Craig", _or even_ "George Clooney Junior"_ but I g-guess it would have been too troublesome with c-copyrights, eh?"

The two men smiled at each other and then, Tim held out his hand and Jimmy gratefully accepted it.

"Thank you, Jimmy. You are a real friend."

"I'm the one who ought to thank you, Tim. You're the o-only one in Team Gibbs who has never called m-me 'The Autopsy G-Gremlin' to my face. I hate that nickname but I am certain it will f-follow me for the rest of my career at NCIS!"

"Ah, but gremlins have sharp teeth and a lot of resourcefulness when they are handled carelessly, don't they? Maybe you should remain Tony of that fact the next time he mocks you, since he's the movie aficionado…"

"Bah! A lot of f-fat good it would do. Tony never listens to anyone and I-I should never have wasted time listening to his s-stupid jokes."

A moment of uneasy silence fell between the two men, and then Jimmy's voice rose to ask timidly:

"D-Do you think Thom E. G-Gemcity will write another n-nice book very soon, this t-time about McGregor's adventures abroad?"

"I'm afraid it won't happen before my mission is finished, Jimmy."

"That's what I-I wanted to ask y-you: could you please come b-back alive and well from A-Afghanistan, so you could ask Thom E. Gemcity to w-write another book as soon as you will b-be back? I-I would really a-a-appreciate reading a new novel but for that, my favorite author n-needs to sit in f-front of his typewriter and type away on his k-keyboard, under y-your dictation. Mr. Gemcity w-won't be able to go f-far without you, and neither would I."

McGee gathered the Assistant M.E. in his arms and gave him a hug, both amused and moved by Jimmy's use of his _alter ego_ to express his wish to see him back in D.C. unhurt and unchanged. Palmer wrapped his arms around Tim's shoulders while scrunching his eyes tightly in a desperate attempt to stop the tears from falling on his cheeks. Gentle, nervous, overenthusiastic Jimmy Palmer, the worthy successor of Doctor Mallard! NCIS would be an empty place without the young man's shining presence, too often sent back to the morgue's shadows by Gibbs' brusqueness.

"I promise you, just like I did to Ducky and Ziva, that I will come back from Afghanistan in one piece," said Tim in a hoarse voice. "Mr. Gemcity won't remain unemployed for very long, you'll see."

Jimmy let out a sigh and tightened his embrace.

McGee answered back – just as tightly.

TBC…


	11. A discussion

**Disclaimer**: same as Chapter 1.

**Author's notes:**

- Details from American military bases come from Wikipedia and I apologize for any inaccuracies as I have absolutely no knowledge of the US armed forces. Mind you, I don't have the slightest idea about the French ones, either.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 11: A discussion<strong>

"What in the world is that?" asked Ziva first thing on Saturday morning, pointing at the motorcycle helmet Tony had on his head.

DiNozzo grunted in annoyance; it was the fifth time someone had asked this question since he had stepped foot inside NCIS. Of course, he had known this special kind of headgear would raise interrogations but he had hoped people composing the weekend skeleton crew would have minded their own business. However, he couldn't stop Ziva from being intrigued since A) she was an integral part of Team Gibbs and B) refusing to answer her questions could be hazardous to your health.

"It's a helmet, Zee."

"Of course it is, you silly man!" said the young woman seated at her desk. She hadn't been happy at the idea of having to work during the weekend but she had figured Gibbs' and Tony's tumultuous meeting with Vance had something to do with about it; their team wasn't exactly in favor with the Director and it would be wise to keep a low profile until the storm was over. However, doing so could prove to be difficult with Tony wearing a ruby-red helmet at the office!

"I didn't know you had bought a motorcycle, though; I've never pictured you as an outdoorsman. What I want to know is, why are you wearing your helmet at work?"

"I'm a city boy through and through! I'd never waste money on a motorcycle; you get covered with squashed bugs and your girlfriend can sit only behind you, whereas it is always better to have her seated by your side for a little enjoyment behind the wheel…"

"Ahem!" said Ziva, clearing her throat. She wasn't in the mood to listen to Tony's bragging his head off about him being a serious player in the dating field and she inwardly thought he should put an end to it, since praising his sexuality and joking about others' had put him in trouble with McGee in the first place.

"But this helmet isn't mine; I've borrowed it for the day from Carter, my next-door neighbor and it's to protect me from Gibbs."

"Why would you need protection from the Boss? Is it because of what Vance said during yesterday's meeting?"

"No, it's because I've had a row on the phone with Abby last evening!"

Ziva made a small grimace at those words; having an argument with Abby was a sure way to get a harsh head-slap from Gibbs and the ex-Mossad understood why Tony had taken the precaution to protect his skull. However, she doubted Gibbs would appreciate that his Senior Agent used his "special humor" in an attempt to defuse a potentially-explosive situation.

"What was it about?"

"She was furious about her suspension, what else? And when I told her Vance wouldn't budge an inch, she hit the roof! Then she started moaning about us letting her down, we are not good friends to her, why haven't we called to cheer her up, and so on and so forth. I never had a chance to talk about the review board; I couldn't get a word in edgewise with her! All in one, she called me selfish for thinking about saving my career and I told her she should take a good look at herself in the mirror before accusing other people. I'll bet you ten bucks she called Gibbs right after our conversation to complain about me."

"You've already won, Tony, considering the look on Gibbs' face!" said Ziva with a meaningful look towards the elevator.

Tony turned around just as Gibbs stepped out of the cabin with his features set in stone, which could only mean one thing: the older man had spent hours trying to calm down Abby once again; considering the dark circles around his eyes and the super-sized coffee cup in his hand, it had cost him another sleepless night and the remnants of Team Gibbs would have to endure a highly-irritated boss for the rest of the day.

"DiNozzo, what's with the stupid helmet?" barked Gibbs. "Take it off, you look more clownish than usual."

"Sorry Boss, but I have to know beforehand if it is safe to work around you and…"

"I am not going to head-slap you, fool! But for your information, Abby did keep me awake all night with her complains and it included the talk you've had with her on the phone. I am in a volatile mood and I don't like time-wasting high-school pranks, **got it**?"

"Got it, Boss," said Tony, hastily unfastening the chin strap and setting the helmet beneath his desk. He combed his hair back in place with his fingers and resumed his attention towards his computer, acting as if nothing had happened a minute ago. However, a quick glance at Gibbs told Tony that he was still in hot waters about the disastrous phone call he had with Abby and it would be a question of time before he would get his 'rightful' retribution for messing with the favorite.

Tony groaned slightly at the thought. He had never been in trouble with Abby before; in fact, only McGee had received the brunt of Gibbs' wrath whenever the Lab Rat had been in danger and Tony had found it hilarious to watch Probie working on his knees for a week, after the Boss-man had confiscated his office chair from the outcome of the Mawher case. But it certainly wouldn't be funny if Gibbs would deprive Tony of _his_ chair, simply because he had an argument with Abby. He was a Senior Agent and he couldn't be humiliated in public like a beginner. That kind of things was good only for McGee!

"**DiNozzo!"** Gibbs' voice cut through the young man's reverie with the sharpness of a combat knife.

"Yes?" asked a startled Senior Agent.

"**Back to work!"**

Tony started to type on his keyboard like a man possessed and Ziva avoided looking at her boss; Gibbs was really in 'full pissed-off' mood and the weekend at the office would prove to be long, very long…

The young woman let out a small sigh; it would have been simpler if Gibbs, Abby and Tony had done a _mea culpa_ to McGee for their past behavior. Given Tim's good nature, he would have forgiven them on the spot and he would have left for Afghanistan with the moral support of all his teammates. But pride had stood on the way and it had ended with arguments, wild accusations and lots of sulking. Ziva congratulated herself for having said her good-byes to McGee but she still had a hard time believing neither Gibbs nor Tony would do the same; even as crossed as they were, they shouldn't remain in bad terms with Tim. God knew what perils awaited the young man and Ziva was certain the Team Leader and the Senior Agent would be beside themselves with grief should the worst ever happen.

Another sigh escaped her lips: why men were so _infernally_ stubborn?

"Problem, David?" asked the hard voice of the Team Leader.

"No, Boss," answered the ex-Mossad, but her steel-like tone and obsidian eyes betrayed her feelings. Gibbs shot her another one of his infamous glares but once again, Ziva remained impassible. The silver-haired man resumed his attention to his computer, inwardly wondering about the possibility of losing his touch over the years: nobody seemed to be impressed by his ice-blue gaze anymore!

* * *

><p>After long hours spent at the bullpen staring at archived files and a lousy lunch, Gibbs felt like he was going to explode any minute: boredom was crushing him alive, his agents were unnaturally quiet, he was getting cross-eyed from fatigue and the snide remarks he had received from the other agents hadn't improved his temper at all. Gibbs had nearly thrown his half-emptied cup at Daniels' head after the man had said: <em>"Not feeling too lost without your geek doing the work in your stead, Gibbs?"<em>; then, while he was trying to get a decent refill from the machine, he had heard Emerson saying to probationer Martins: _"We'd better come back for coffee later… The Old Bastard is pissed off because his whipping boy had finally thrown in the towel."_ On top of everything, Abby had called him on his cell phone to ask about his new plans to have her re-instated. Gibbs had tried to make her understand that the Director wouldn't relent and, besides, it would be difficult to talk to Vance for the moment as the guy was off-duty but it had only resulted in Abby sobbing in the earnest, stating that no one truly loved her. Strangely enough, both Tony and Ziva had left the bullpen for a coffee break at the shop down the street after hearing Abby's call – probably because they feared their Leader's reaction once the conversation would be over.

It was Gibbs' turn to sigh, and then his eyes turned towards McGee's empty desk; it was way too tidy for his likings – in fact, it looked more like a memorial to his computer geek than an active workplace. The older man rubbed his tired eyes with the back of his hand; gosh, the feeling of emptiness was overwhelming. McGee had been in his team for eight years and he had missed work only twice during all this time, for a family matter and a bout of the flu. Otherwise, the kid had been present at his desk day or night, weekdays or weekends, come Hell or high waters – including when Gibbs had punished him for Abby's recklessness – all this to bring his co-workers the needed clues for solving cases in a snap. McGee had never let anything or anyone impede his concentration and his steadfastness had proved to be invaluable; even Gibbs had to admit the kid's resilience and it had been an exploit in itself, since the Team Leader was always a century late to admit qualities in other persons.

But McGee had quit the team; he was leaving for a chimera at the other side of the world, simply because he had gone fed up to wait for a word from his boss. It wouldn't have cost Gibbs a fortune to praise Tim's good work every now and then, and as a result of his inaction he had been robbed of his treasure.

Gibbs jumped on his feet and stormed out of the bullpen to press the elevator's buttons, oblivious of the mocking looks he was getting from other NCIS agents. He was nearing the breaking point, both physically and emotionally, and the only available remedy was a nap at Ducky's lair. Some peace and quiet would be most welcome!

After a short trip downstairs, Gibbs pushed open the morgue's door but the sight of the lightened neon tubes intrigued him: normally the room should be dark and silent as Ducky was supposed to be on leave. A quick look around confirmed that the M.E. was indeed in his office, shuffling some papers and writing down notes.

"Ah, Jethro! What brings you to my humble abode?" asked the doctor with an amiable tone.

"What are you doing here, Ducky? I thought you had the weekend off."

"That's correct; however, I didn't feel like staying at home and worry about young Timothy so I came here to do menial tasks, like rewriting notes and cleaning surgical instruments."

"Shouldn't that be the Gremlin's work?"

"Correct, but Mr. Palmer is also upset with Timothy's departure and I can't possibly ask him to come at NCIS during the weekend. I daresay some time spent in the agreeable company of Breena will take his mind off things… But you haven't answered my question, Jethro: why did you come to the morgue on a Saturday afternoon whereas there are no new patients waiting for you?"

Gibbs sat heavily on a chair; the presence of Ducky at the morgue had ruined his chance of a snooze on one of the metallic slabs. No McGee, no decent coffee, no lunch and no nap: could this day go even worse?

"I kinda hoped to get a few winks at your place… Abby called me yesterday evening and I've spent hours consoling her after I told her I have been unable to make Vance lift the punishment. She phoned me again today; she was in tears and I am running out of ideas to cheer her up."

The Scotsman laid down his pencil and looked at his friend straight in the eyes: "Don't you think it is high time for Abigail to finally admit she is the only one at fault in this whole suspension business?"

"Ducky, you know it doesn't work like this!"

"And why not, pray tell? Being your favorite does not absolve her from all blame. In fact, the special status you have granted Abigail may have troubled her judgment as well. She wrongly thinks she can do anything she wants to because you are her overprotective guardian angel, scaring off anyone who dares to criticize her. I quite understand the love you bear Abigail; she is so puerile she can only remind you of a child, especially the daughter you have lost so tragically. But let me ask you something, Jethro: had Kelly survived the crash after Reynosa shot the car driver, would you have let her grow up to become a tyrant?"

"Ducky!" growled the silver-haired man. He didn't like the turn this discussion was taking as everybody around NCIS knew Gibbs was particularly touchy when it came to the subject of his murdered wife and daughter.

"Just tell me, Jethro: would you have done it?" asked Ducky, unflustered by the signs of imminent anger on his long-time friend's face. "Would you have accepted to see your daughter manipulating other people's feelings? Would you have been proud of Kelly if she imposed her ways to her co-workers, otherwise they would suffer dire consequences? Would you have encouraged Kelly to walk over people, including the ones who bored her no ill will?"

"**What that has got to do with Abby, for God's sakes?"** shouted Gibbs.

"Everything, Jethro; you have granted Abigail too much freedom and she has abused of it. I am not talking about her wild taste in clothes or her blatant disregard about basic rules of politeness, but of her whimsical nature which makes her react completely erratically at times. Nonetheless, she feels 'authorized' to adopt this kind of behavior since you have never told her once to adopt a better comportment. And unfortunately, Timothy frequently ended in trouble because of Abigail's caprices, even though he was completely blameless."

"I know, Ducky! I overreacted and I'm a blind old fool when it comes to Abby but… the very idea of her in danger makes me lose my mind."

"But where did it left Timothy, Jethro? Your favoritism has made him feel like the low man of the totem pole, the occasional punching bag, the unimportant one. And it had been hard for him to hear you praise Anthony, Ziva or Abigail's work while he remained in the shadows, roughly pushed aside from the spotlight illuminating Team Gibbs."

"That's not true, Ducky. Before I left for Mexico, I told McGee he was an excellent agent and to not let anyone say otherwise."

"It was too little, too late, Jethro. You should have done it years ago and not just a few minutes before you quit NCIS. Besides, after you returned, you've barely said three words to Timothy: he was genuinely happy to see you again and you answered his greetings with your usual barking. Good grief, Jethro, when will you ever learn? On one hand, you lavish attention towards whimsical Abigail and on the other hand, you lash out at loyal Timothy – and you wonder why he has no second thoughts about leaving D.C.? It is very hard for me to say this but Timothy once compared our team to a kingdom: you played the role of the King, Abigail was Princess, Anthony was Prince Heir, Ziva the Official Assassin and do you know whom he compared himself with? The Jester, a little man whose witticisms are appreciated but gets kicked back into a corner at a moment's notice when serious matters require the King's attention."

Gibbs fell back on the chair, his face livid by Ducky's revelations. His kid; his poor, long-suffering kid had actually thought he was of no importance to his Boss!

"Ducky, I… I don't know what to say. I certainly wouldn't have been so indulgent towards Kelly if she had had the chance to grow up to womanhood; I would have taught her to respect her friends, her teachers and later her co-workers so she would become a good person. As for Abby, I just can't seem to be able to say _"No"_ to her: she looks vulnerable in spite of her tattoos and her metallic jewelry that I feel an irresistible need to protect her at all costs. McGee is so strong, so damn intelligent that I've just thought he didn't need me as a father figure, unlike Tony and Ziva."

"That's right, but Timothy needed you as a mentor and a friend. He may doesn't want a new father – he could have, considering the open disdain Admiral McGee bores to his only son – and yet he idolizes you and he would gladly jump into a fire if it could save your life. But the only things Timothy got from his devotion have been Anthony's sarcasms, Abigail's silly games and your stone-like silence fueled by your famous motto about never acknowledging your wrongs. Then a general showed up, appreciated Timothy's talents and snatched him away from us, leaving only a lot of regrets behind. Apologizing is not your weakness, Jethro: your pride is."

"Ducky, I love that boy."

"I know that, Jethro, but Timothy doesn't! And you may have lost all chances to ever tell him."

* * *

><p>Saturday had passed like a breeze for McGee: he had cleaned up his flat from top to bottom, gotten rid of perishable food in the fridge (he had a hearty take-out lunch provided by Mr. Tong's world-famous Chinese restaurant), checked on his insurance papers one last time and entrusted his potted plants to the care of green-thumbed Mrs. Bergman. A quick trip to the barber shop had left him with a buzz cut almost similar to Gibbs', and then he had spent the whole afternoon making a last but thorough inspection of his trunk, the Duckman's notebook in hand. His nylon bag containing the laptop and the computer's gizmos had been inspected as well (not to forget the hidden pocket containing an MP3 loaded with music). Ducky's book had been stashed with his encrypted notes for the Watcher; as for Ziva's knife – which Tim had named <em>"The Dark Dove"<em> in honor of his friend -, he would wear it on him at all times: thanks to the advice of a military surplus shopkeeper, he had acquired a leather strap that would keep the sheath discreetly strapped around his waist, under his clothes.

All this activity had left him tired at the end of the day but at least it had gotten his mind out of sad thoughts clouding it: his parents had remained unreachable, his sister's flat-mate had told him Sarah was away for a romantic weekend with her boyfriend, the flat was way too empty without Jet and Gibbs still hadn't called.

Sure, having received the support of Ducky, Ziva and Jimmy had lifted Tim's spirits for a while but the young man felt torn at the thought he hadn't been able to talk to his family before leaving for Afghanistan. Tim's practical side kept telling him it was probably better since his relatives wouldn't appreciate his imminent leave for a war zone; but his caring, loving side was yearning to hear his relatives' voices one last time...

Tim's throat tightened from the sorrow he was feeling, but his resolution never faltered; he wouldn't let his family's absence or Gibbs' no-show to demoralize him. His affairs were in order; Andy was taking care of Jet; his bills would be paid by direct debit. And he had entrusted Mrs. Bergman with a spare key of his flat, asking her if she could come every now and then to air the rooms and the dear woman had accepted immediately, trying very hard to hide her emotion with kind smiles. Tim had promised to bring her some flower seeds from Afghanistan but she had answered she would rather see him back in DC, _"safe and sound and brown as a nut"_ before kissing him on the cheek. Mrs. Bergman knew what it was to lose a loved one in a war – her father disappeared during WWII, one of her sons had been killed in Vietnam – and she was found of her quiet, gentle young neighbor. She would have taken care of his dog but her three prized cats wouldn't have appreciated Jet's presence in her flat!

Tim was thinking about going through his notes for the Watcher to avoid thinking too much about his absent family and his too-quiet flat, but at the same moment the phone rang. The young man hoped it would be Gibbs at long last but the name displayed on the caller ID made him frown: it was Vance.

"Hello?"

"_McGee, this is Vance. I've just got news from General Stephenson and there has been a mistake: you are expected to **be** in Afghanistan tomorrow and not to leave tomorrow as it was originally planned. Your plane will take off in four hours; are you ready?"_

Tim felt his heart slamming against his throat before returning back to its rightful place inside his chest. His departure had been brought forward and this sudden change of plans made him feel panicky for a brief second, just before his self-control reigned in his emotions.

"I am all packed and ready to go, Sir."

"_Have you done your medical check-up?"_

"I did, Sir and all my affairs are in order. I wrote to my family, my dog is at my friend's house and I even said good-bye to my friends."

"_All of them?"_

"Well, no… But the Watcher is also packed and I am looking forward to work on it in Kandahar."

"_Good man! A car will pick you up within the hour and drive you to Joint Base Andrews Naval Air Facility, where a plane from the 79th Medical Wing of the Air Force District of Washington will take you to the Bagram Air Base in Afghanistan. General Stephenson will greet you in person and he'll give you all the details about your status and the rank you have been bestowed with: you cannot work on the Watcher as a civilian or a Federal Agent; it would appear too suspicious and there are always spies prowling around our bases. From now, your immediate superior will be General Stephenson and you will follow his orders to the letter."_

"Very well, Sir."

"_Now, don't think for a minute you will escape my attention simply because you will be miles away from D.C. for six months. I want a weekly video report from you about your progresses with the Watcher and don't you dare to miss one of our appointments! I expect to see you on the MTAC screen every Friday morning, are we clear?"_

"Yes, Sir," said Tim with a smile. Vance's gruff voice was concealing badly the concern the Director had for his agent.

"_Take care of you, son; General Stephenson has assured me you will be in good hands and he's a man of his word. Your greatest assets are your brains so use them; there are people out there who appreciate intelligence, especially in a war zone so don't listen to disparaging loudmouths!"_

"Understood, Sir, and I thank you for your support."

"_Good luck, Agent McGee."_

The phone call ended on Vance's departing words and Tim closed his eyes as a whirlwind of emotions seized him: fear, excitement, readiness, grief, duty and love raged through his brains but his courage suddenly rose like a mighty phoenix, deploying its wings in all its shining glory high above the maelstrom to enchant the sky with its magical presence, bringing appeasement and hope.

Tim's emerald-colored eyes shone brighter at the thought the mythical bird would guide him through his mission in Afghanistan. With its help and the _"Dark Dove"_ hidden beneath his shirt, the young man was certain he would succeed in protecting US soldiers abroad.

TBC…


	12. A devastation

**Disclaimer**: same as Chapter 1.

**Author's notes:**

- To Prairiecitygirl: Hi! Thanks for your reviews! Yes, Tim dropped his dog at Andy's one day earlier but in the end, it was a smart move since his departure has been brought forward.

- To 1701bg: I hope this new chapter will meet your expectations! ;-)

- To hwrdtheduc: Hello! Believe me, people will realize Tim's worth… very soon.

- The thighbone or femur is the largest bone in the human body (from Wikipedia).

- Details from Joint Base Andrews Naval Air Facility come from Wikipedia, and I apologize for any inaccuracies.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 12: A devastation<strong>

Gibbs got out of the morgue in a state of confusion, a feeling he abhorred. For years the ex-Marine had thought in terms of right and wrong, light and dark, his rules and the rest of the world's, take it or leave it. This dualistic philosophy had suited him just fine and he had never though once about changing it – no matters how many times his lack of tact had put him in trouble. Of course, there was the matter of the secret Rule no. 51, hidden in a drawer under a pile of junk in his basement, but Gibbs simply considered that embarrassing note as a mere shard of bone dumped among the skeletons in his overcrowded closet. And yet, that tiny scrap of paper had turned into an enormous thighbone which had jumped out of the said closet to whack him over the skull so hard, his head-slaps looked like pats.

Ducky's words kept replaying through his mind and the silver-haired man couldn't do a thing to make them stop haunting him: _"Apologizing is not your weakness, Jethro, your pride is..." "You love Timothy, but he doesn't know!" "It may be too late for you to tell him..."_, making his pride scream in rage at this blatant defiance of its supremacy. Gibbs had been certain of everything he had done in his life – leaving his hometown, joining the Marines, marrying Shannon, avenging his loved ones, choosing his team members –, guided by his overconfidence and his no-failures-allowed attitude. He had wanted to transmit this ideal to his adopted 'kids' so they would trust themselves unconditionally, never waste a minute with self-doubt and hence, become the best investigators of NCIS. His pride had been his steadfast companion since childhood and Gibbs had never imagined, not for a second, that his quest for perfection would lead him towards a major catastrophe.

And yet, many people had told him before that he acted like a fool wearing blinkers: his mother, his dear Shannon, senior officers in the Army, even Jenny Sheppard and Leon Vance; each and every time, Gibbs had shrugged off those criticisms since he lived on the unshakable belief that he was always right – even if he would commit blatant injustices on the way, especially towards the quiet ones…

And their best representative was leaving for Afghanistan, making Gibbs roar in pain after a sudden gust of light had busted into the fog clouding his vision.

"_You blew it, Gibbs", _whispered long-time-no-see Good Sense in the older man's brains. _"You listened to Pride, you lashed out at everybody, you played "favorite" amongst your subordinates and you wonder why McGee has left?"_

"**McGee's a wimp!" **answered Pride in a seething tone.** "If he can't stand the heat, he might as well get out of the kitchen!"**

"_Yeah, right. So everyone who can't endure Gibbs is a wimp?"_

"**Damn right!"**

"_So the world is populated only with wimps? How logical!"_

"**Shut up!"**

"_No, I won't. You've blinded Gibbs for so long that he became an odious person. Scaring people don't inspire respect, but fear. Favoring a teammate over others doesn't bring amusement, but resentment. Never listening to explanations doesn't lead to perfection, but to confusion. McGee is a good person who has gotten fed up of being a scapegoat, simply because Gibbs had his ears too filled with your rubbish to admit he has made grave mistakes in his leadership."_

"**Mistakes, what mistakes? Gibbs never makes mistakes and it is all thanks to me!"**

"_Are you trying to make me believe you've turned Gibbs into an infallible being? That's a laugh!"_

"**I am beyond reproach!"**

"_Yeah, right. Keep on deluding yourself."_

"**Gibbs is the finest agent of NCIS!"**

"_And the most disregarded."_

"**And what mistakes am I responsible for, pray tell?"**

"_You let Gibbs believe he never has to consider other people, and that he could indefinitely blame McGee for the misdemeanors of sweet, innocent, above-all-reproaches Abby. As a result, McGee has quit the team. Some success! You are a poor adviser, Pride, and Gibbs' greatest weakness – to quote Ducky."_

This inner conflict made Gibbs groan in discomfort as a monstrous migraine was developing in his brains. He sat down heavily at his desk and buried his head between his hands – making Tony look at him with rounded eyes and Ziva shake her head in disbelief. Gibbs paid no attention to his agents and screwed up his eyes in a vain attempt to calm down the conflict between Pride and Good Sense but the two belligerents didn't seem in any disposition to lay down the arms:

"**All this is McGee's fault! His departure has disrupted the team!"**

"_Well he didn't have many reasons to stay in the first place, did he?"_

"**But…!"**

"_But, nothing. McGee never felt he belonged to the team, and for valid reasons. Why would have he stayed? To endure Gibbs' wrath whenever it took him four seconds to find clues instead of three? To be ridiculed by DiNozzo, who mocks his professionalism in public? To remain Abby's lackey forever? This young man has too much potential to waste it with ungrateful bosses and stupid co-workers. Only Ziva appreciates his worth, even if it took her a long time to stop following the 'bashing-McGee' movement like a sheep. You actually thought McGee would remain under Gibbs' heel for the rest of his life? Wake up and smell the coffee, Pride!"_

"**My decisions are always the best ones."**

"_No, they're not. And if you want examples, I'll be happy to provide them: no friends in Gibbs' life; estranged father; three ex-wives giving up; no hopes for advancement within NCIS; tons of medals but no army buddies; no childhood pals; women coming and going; no social life; hours spent sulking and drinking in a basement while building boats which will never be launched in the ocean. Do I need to go on?"_

"**Go away, Good Sense! You are not welcome here."**

"_Gee, I would have never guessed. Fine, I'm going but just remember that if the news of McGee's demise ever reaches NCIS, you'll be blamed in the first place. Gibbs will never forgive himself for not having said his good-byes to the kid – after listening to your foolish advice – and he will probably drink to oblivion for the rest of his life, a pitiful ending for his prestigious career as a Marine sniper and a Federal Agent."_

The two voices finally quieted down, and Gibbs opened his ice-blue eyes. No way in Hell would it end like that; no way would he become a drunk because he would feel remorseful about McGee's death in Afghanistan. No way would Tim leave the United States without a few words of wisdom and comfort from his ex-Marine boss. Gibbs hated to admit it but he had been wrong, w-r-o-n-g, and it was unworthy of a Team Leader to let one of his subordinates leave for an important mission abroad without his blessings. What had he been thinking, wasting time sulking in his basement or drying out Abby's tears?

A quick glance at the clock informed him that it was past 5:00 p.m. His decision taken, Gibbs grabbed his jacket and ran towards the lift.

"Boss! Where are you going?" called out Tony.

"You stay here, DiNozzo. And you too, David!"

"But, Boss!" protested Tony, jumping on his feet. "You didn't tell me where you are going!"

"Shut it, DiNozzo!" barked the Team Leader while pressing on the 'Basement' button of the elevator's cabin. "Where I am going is none of your business. You stay here and you keep your nose away from my desk, got it?"

The elevator's doors shut before Tony could utter another protest. Astonished, he turned about to ask Ziva for advice but the young woman just shook her head and resumed her attention to her work, silently telling she wasn't going to give her teammate any information about what had just happened. Ziva inwardly cursed men's cluelessness: why had it taken Gibbs so long to realize his pride far exceeded his intelligence?

* * *

><p>"McGee! Open up!" yelled Gibbs as he banged on his agent's door with his fist for the third time.<p>

Not a sound came from behind the door and the silver-haired man was getting worried: his phone calls had remained unanswered during his mad drive to Tim's home. Then he had buzzed at the intercom and only silence had greeted him – by a stroke of luck, Gibbs had been able to enter the building because a tenant had passed the main entrance's door, saving him the trouble to pick the lock. But Tim had remained deaf to his Boss' demands and that was most puzzling: the young man wasn't the kind to sulk and, even if he would be neck-deep in preparations for his upcoming departure, he'd certainly react at loud sounds of knocking at his door.

"McGee, it's Gibbs! Open up, now!"

"And what exactly do you think you are doing, young man?" asked a woman's voice behind him.

Gibbs turned about to see a little old lady with gray hair standing on her doorstep, cradling a spotted cat in her arms and watching him severely behind the thick lenses of her glasses. She reminded him somehow of Mrs. Fox, his fourth-grade teacher.

"I'm a Federal Agent, Ma'am. Please go back inside your flat."

"This is not what I have asked, young man – and mind your manners, ordering me about won't work. Federal Agent or not, it doesn't explain why you are pounding at Timothy's door like an elephant!"

The no-nonsense tone of the old lady definitively reminded Gibbs of Mrs. Fox.

"Look, Ma'am, I work with Tim at NCIS. Did he ever tell you about him working for a Federal Agency?"

"He certainly did. And I daresay it is a blessing to have such a polite and efficient young man in our building. He sorted out that mess we got into after our landlady's brat stole her set of keys and helped himself with our valuables while we were absent from our homes."

Gibbs remembered that special case: the boy had "visited" McGee's apartment and had stolen money from his man's on-line accounts after finding the access codes inside a notebook. Tony had loudly praised the boy's boldness and he had forced McGee to buy video games for the twelve-year-old kid, on the grounds that Tim was to blame since he had "wrongly" thought his personal information would be safe in his own home.

"I remember… We dealt with this case at NCIS," said Gibbs;

"Well, you certainly didn't do a very good job, Mister. The brat came home with a triumphant smile on his face, showing off the games he has gotten as a reward for being a burglar in short pants and laughing out loud from the fact he was too young to be arrested for his misdemeanors. Well, his triumph was short-lived, believe me – and all this thanks to Timothy!"

"What do you mean?"

"He convinced all the tenants to file a complaint against our landlady. We couldn't drag her horrid boy in court but we certainly could press charges for breach of trust, failing to secure our homes, and for neglecting her kid's upbringing. Timothy hired a very good attorney – someone who worked with his publisher- and with twenty-four plaintiffs, it provoked quite a ruckus in court! The judge was appalled and he had the most severe words for our landlady; he asked her whatever possessed her to leave her pest of a kid alone for hours, since he obviously couldn't stay five minutes without getting into trouble. The brat started to cry at some moment, saying that it wasn't his fault, but the judge said crocodile tears won't erase the fact he was a burglar-in-making. Because he didn't steal only from Timothy: he also took my dear Isidore's watch, Mrs. Bradley's gold ring, Millie Stevens' iPod and cash from the Jones and the Van de Velde. All in one, our landlady has been sentenced to pay to each tenant a hefty sum in compensation, and our locks had been replaced at her expenses. Her little thief has been sent to a Juvenile Hall, I believe – certainly a place where he can't enjoy his undeserved video games."

Gibbs bit at his lower lip; he remembered him and the rest of the team laughing out loud at Tim's woes. The young man had been shattered by the kid's betrayal, especially since he had proposed his landlady to give free math lessons to her son – and his kindness had been repaid with contempt, as usual.

"But all this doesn't tell me why you are banging at Timothy's door," resumed the old lady.

"Look, Ma'am…"

"Mrs. Bergman."

"Mrs. Bergman, I am Tim's boss and I want to talk to him about something important. But he isn't answering his phone and I am getting worried…"

"You must not be a good boss, then! Otherwise, you should have known that Timothy has already left for Afghanistan."

Gibbs felt his lower jaw hitting the floor before jumping back in its place.

"EXCUSE ME?"

"You've heard me perfectly well, young man! Timothy has been preparing for Afghanistan non-stop since Thursday, and a soldier in uniform came in two hours ago to take him to Andrews AFB. The soldier helped with carrying his trunk and luggage, but Timothy took the time to kiss me good-bye one last time. How sweet of him!"

Gibbs' heart missed a beat; McGee's departure had been brought forward and he had probably left his mobile phone at his flat, rightly thinking it would be of no use abroad. Time was running out! He made a mad dash to the elevator without adding another word, leaving Mrs. Bergman behind to mutter between her teeth:

"Atrocious manners… You'd think Federal Agents were better behaved! Thanks goodness for nice men like Timothy!"

* * *

><p>A few hours later, Tim woke up from a jolt of the car. He opened his eyes and realized they had reached Andrews Air Force Base, Maryland, after a drive of nearly two hours. Tim inwardly scolded himself for having fallen asleep instead of looking at his homeland through the car's windows, but the stress of preparing for this mission at the drop of a hat had finally caught up on him. Well, at least he would be well-rested once his plane would land at Bagram…<p>

"We have arrived, Sir!" announced the young soldier – Freeman – loudly but unnecessarily. Tim could indeed see the base, the flight lines, the housing units and the Malcolm Grow Medical Center in the background.

"Yes, thank you for the smooth drive, Freeman. I must have dozed off for a little while…"

"You did, Sir, and that was quite impressive. You look pretty cool for a man going to a war zone!"

Tim felt his cheeks burning a little from the soldier's words of praise; he had done nothing but sleeping in a car and Freeman thought it as an exploit!

"Ahem… Which plane is the one I am supposed to take?" asked Tim, trying to get out of an embarrassing situation.

"This one over here, Sir," answered the driver, pointing at a Boeing C-40 Clipper bearing the emblem of the 79th Medical Wing, patiently waiting on a runway with its lights blinking on and off. Tim inwardly thanked General Stephenson for allowing him to travel in an innocent-looking plane; medical staff and planes were usually inconspicuous for spies**.**

"When is the plane taking off?"

"In about an hour, Sir. We have plenty of time to load your luggage, and there are refreshments available in hangar 38. There are also public phones, if you'd like to make a call before the take-off…"

"It won't be necessary."

"As you wish, Sir."

Tim closed his eyes for a brief instant and focused on the mind's image of the phoenix; at the same time, the knife tucked beneath his shirt pocked him slightly on the ribs – it felt like Ziva reminding him of his abilities as a Federal Agent and a computer tech. McGee smiled slightly and, after Freeman had stopped the car, he walked with a confident step towards the Boeing C-40 Clipper.

* * *

><p>Gibbs drove like a maniac, breaking the rules of the road at each turn of his wheels. It was nothing but a miracle that he hadn't been arrested by highway patrolmen – not that he would have pulled over to present his driving license and his car's registration, though. He was too much in a hurry to reach Base Andrews that he wouldn't have stopped even if a dozen of police cars were chasing after him.<p>

He was certain McGee would hop in a plane at the Maryland base, and he was flooring the gas pedal in a desperate attempt to talk to his Tim one last time. Had he had more time, Gibbs would have given himself the mother of all head-slaps for having missed so many opportunities during the past two days – and to have yelled at the young man at the conference room. Poor kid, what must have gone through his head after he had been accused and yelled at by his boss? He must have thought it was nothing else but the usual and that his departure wouldn't be mourned by anyone.

Ziva must have paid McGee a visit to say her good-byes; it would explain her lateness yesterday morning. And Gibbs was ready to bet Ducky had done the same but the kid must have been crushed about his boss and his other co-workers' no-show – except for Abby. Her violent scene about the dog had alienated all chances for reconciliation but would it be also too late for Gibbs? Provided he would arrive on time at Andrews Air Force Base, would McGee accept to listen to him?

The silver-haired man gritted his teeth furiously as his car's headlights illuminated a road sign announcing: _"Andrews AFB__, 1 mile." _In a few minutes, he would reach his destination and nothing would stop him from talking to McGee!

* * *

><p>"Your luggage has been loaded and the plane is ready to leave, Sir."<p>

"Thank you, Freeman," said Tim, shaking the hand of the young soldier. "Have a safe drive home."

"Thank you, Sir. Same for you, Sir!"

Tim smiled and climbed the steps heading for the Boeing's door.

* * *

><p>"You can't enter the base without an authorization, Sir," said the MP at the front gate."<p>

"NCIS," answered Gibbs curtly, showing his badge. "Let me enter, I have to speak to one of my men who is leaving for Afghanistan."

"Federal Agent or not, you cannot enter without authorization, Sir! I have to refer to my superiors."

The MP reached for the phone located in the gatehouse but the sudden roar of a car engine made him turn about, just in time to see the visitor's car crashing into the grade crossing gate, reducing it to flying bits. The MP jumped on the phone and called for reinforcements, signaling the presence of a motorized intruder heading for the flight lines. Within seconds, MPs climbed in jeeps and gave chase to Gibbs' car while the NCIS Agent paid them no heed: the only thing that mattered to him was finding his Tim and he would succeed!

Gibbs zigzagged through the vehicles, narrowly missing a few pedestrians on the way and knocked over a few crates, spilling their contents on the tarmac. His pursuers shouted frantic orders, threatened to open fire and all the rest of it, but Gibbs never relented. Suddenly, he spotted a Boeing C-40 Clipper taxiing on a distant runway and his gut told him it was McGee's plane. But before he could chase after it, a huge oil tanker crossed his path and Gibbs slammed on the brakes, avoiding the collision by a hair. The tanker's driver honked furiously and at the same time, the MPs jumped out the jeeps and ran towards his car, their guns pointed right at him.

"Get out of the vehicle with your hands in the air! You're under arrest!"

Gibbs screamed in frustration and jumped out of the car but, instead of obeying the MPs, he started running after the C-40.

"McGEE!"

"Freeze or we will open fire!"

"McGEE!" roared Gibbs, acting as if his shouts would stop the plane despite of the deafening noise reigning in the base.

"This is your last warning!"

"McGEE, IT'S GIBBS! COME BACK! **TIM!**"

The Boeing C-40 Clipper had reached the needed speed and took off from the runway with a mighty roar of the jet's engine. Gibbs yelled McGee's name one last time, and then he stopped dead on his tracks, watching in desperation the plane rising in the darkening sky.

Too late, he had arrived too late. The great Leroy Jethro Gibbs had failed; Tim was gone, and they would probably never see each other again. His Tim, his son, his baby had left the US for a crazy mission that would lead him to his death and Gibbs, too caught up with his pride and Abby's whims, hadn't been able to avoid his last chance to talk to the young man from slipping through his fingers. Tim McGee, a stuttering young man with a genius intellect, had worked eight years under the orders of NCIS' worst bastard to evolve into a damn fine agent doing a fantastic job. Nobody could dream in finding a better computer tech and, simply because the words _"Good work, McGee"_ couldn't pass Gibbs' pride-sealed lips, Tim had grown discouraged and embittered. And finally, an unnamed general had succeeded where the Team Leader had failed: he had given Tim respect, understanding and above everything else, trust.

Leroy Jethro Gibbs was a flop, it was as simple as that. And his greatest failure had taken the shape of a great white metallic bird carrying his son miles away from America, in the heart of danger. Once again, Gibbs hadn't been able to protect his child.

Hands landed harshly on him, with shouted orders telling him to lie down on his belly at once.

Gibbs turned over and punched the MP nearest to him square on the jaw.

"Bastards! You took Tim! BASTARDS!"

Another MP got punched on the nose, and a third one was kicked in the balls. The tanker's driver tried to stop the furious man and got a tooth knocked out for his troubles. Gibbs, his fists flying everywhere, shouted at the top of his lungs:

"YOU TOOK AWAY MY SON! BASTARDS! I'LL KILL YOU! MY TIM, YOU TOOK MY TIM AWAY! YOU'LL PAY FOR THIS!"

More orders were shouted, soldiers arrived in reinforcement and the rest of the melee ended in the upmost confusion.

TBC…


	13. A declaration

**Disclaimer**: same as Chapter 1.

**Author's notes:**

- Details about Joint Base Andrews come from Wikipedia, any inaccuracies are mine.

- Many thanks to Ensign Cole for the precisions about navy bases' security!

- To 1701bg: I hope you will enjoy this new chapter ;-)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 13: A declaration<strong>

"IN JAIL?"

"No need to yell, Agent DiNozzo! In case it has escaped your attention, we are in the same room," said an exasperated Vance.

The Director had busted out of the elevator and into the deserted bullpen like a charging rhinoceros, looking utterly furious, a toothpick firmly planted in the corner of his mouth like a sword in the ground. Tony and Ziva, who had been working at their desks and wondering out loud where the Team Leader had been doing since his abrupt departure from NCIS the day before, had jumped in fright at the sight of the enraged Vance making a beeline at them – but it had been nothing compared to the astonished news of Gibbs having been arrested at Andrews AFB.

"Sorry, Sir, but... IN JAIL?"

Ziva glanced at her co-worker and under better circumstances she would laughed out loud at Tony's face: he looked as astonished as if someone had presented him incontrovertible evidence proving John Wayne had never rode a horse.

"Yes, Agent DiNozzo, your Team Leader is currently in a holding cell at Base Andrews for having attacked MPs on duty last evening. Now, this kind of news doesn't please me as I had other plans for spending my Sunday – like, oh I don't know, spending time with my family - so don't make me repeat my words because patience is running extremely thin."

"Please, Sir, there must be a mistake... No, this is not a mistake; this is a ludicrous story! Or maybe it is because you were joking, Sir? Yeah, that's it! You made up this whole story to make us laugh so we'll forget about having to work on a Sunday."

"Am I noted for my sense of humor, Agent DiNozzo?" asked Vance with a dangerous tone in his voice.

"No, Sir – no disrespect, Sir – but please, no man in his right state of mind could believe such a whopper, even coming from you. I mean, how ever Gibbs could be in j... **OW**!"

Tony yelped after Ziva had kicked his ankle hard; the young woman was equally upset after having heard of Gibbs' woes but it wasn't the time to make a show of clownish incredulity in front of the only man who could get their Leader out of his cell. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and a swift move from her foot had cut Tony's ramblings short; but Ziva didn't feel remorseful about her actions: Team Gibbs wasn't in Vance's good books for the moment and wasting time with silly questions wouldn't improve their situation. She inwardly thanked her lucky stars for Abby being temporarily expelled from NCIS: had she been here, she would have made a nation-wide scandal about what had befallen on her silver-haired fox.

"Thank you, Agent David."

"Sir," answered Ziva curtly as Tony was trying not to make too many faces from his throbbing ankle. He would complain for a month about this kick but at least he would shut up long enough to let Vance explain what had happened and, more importantly, what was going to happen next.

"Now, as I was saying, Agent Gibbs is in custody at Base Andrews and I will go there and try to find out what the Hell possessed him to go to there in the first place and start a boxing match with MPs who simply happened to do their job," said Vance. "Frankly, at times I think Team Gibbs' members are all possessed by the Demon of Stupidity, except for one! In the meantime, you will both remain here at NCIS and I forbid you to say ONE WORD about Gibbs' current situation to ANYONE, including Doctor Mallard and Miss Sciuto. Is that last point crystal-clear, Agent DiNozzo?"

"(Ow) Yes, Sir! (ow)"

"Good, because the slightest rumor reaching my ears will get you fired before even having the chance to save your skin in front of a review board."

Tony blanched at those words: the incredible news of Gibbs being in jail had made him temporarily forget his own perilous situation and his recent clowning wouldn't speak in his favor. No doubts Vance will add this on the long list of complains filled up about him over the years – Tony hadn't been worried about the Cyber-crimes whiners, but a note signed by the Agency's Director was another matter!

Vance glared at the two agents before leaving the bullpen, the toothpick in his mouth in danger of being crushed into tiny bits from the clenched jaws' pressure. Tony and Ziva watched him walk towards the elevator and disappear behind the metallic door, and then the Senior Agent fell on his office chair, groaning and holding his still throbbing ankle.

"Ow! What on Earth did you do that, Ziver?"

"Can't you hear yourself talking?" shot the ex-Mossad back. "You were almost begging Vance to show you the door! When it comes to put your toes in your mouth, you're the all-time world champion."

"What do you mean?"

"Tony, you've just called your Director a lousy joker! People have been fired for less."

"C'mon, Ziva, I didn't mean it this way and Vance knows it! It is just… Gibbs is the straightest arrow you could ever find on Earth; he's so uptight about honesty you could shoot him from a bow and he would hit the target without even messing his hair. And Vance tried to make us believe Gibbs is in jail for fighting MPs? Yeah, right!"

"Tony, you're an absolute idiot. Didn't you hear what Vance said? _Gibbs is at Base Andrews!_"

"So?" asked the Senior Agent while rubbing his ankle.

"McGee is leaving for Afghanistan. Base Andrews of Prince George's county, Maryland is the departure point for armed forces deployed overseas. Gibbs suddenly left us yesterday afternoon and he is arrested at Base Andrews later in the evening. Don't you get it? Gibbs wanted to say good-bye to Tim but the MPs must have stopped him at the gates, which explain the ensuing fight."

Tony had to admit Ziva's reasoning sounded logical, but the stubborn part of him simply couldn't accept the idea his mentor would have finally accepted McGee's leaving. Gibbs had been furious at the news of the computer tech's desertion and he had made it clear in the conference room that he would never forgive McGee for having accepted to work on whatever project for some Army bigwig.

"You must be kidding! Gibbs would never lower himself to bid farewell to the quitter."

"Talk about McGee one more time like this and I will lower my hand to your face, Tony!"

DiNozzo looked up, startled by the threat and the furious look on Ziva's face. She was usually more patient about his bragging and slandering but, since McGee had announced his departure for Afghanistan, she seemed rather resolute to defend the computer tech at all costs: "What's biting you, Ziva? I've never see you defending Probie like this."

"Well, maybe I should have done it years ago – and stop calling him Probie, it makes you look ridiculous. McGee has worked for NCIS long enough to be spared from your derogatory nicknames. Besides, you should hear the ones the Cyber Crimes guys have in stock for you!"

"What do you mean?"

"Do you think you're the only one who has the privilege to insult co-workers? A lot of people don't think very highly of you at NCIS, especially the Cyber Crimes' techs; I happen to know they have quite colorful ways to describe you."

"They dare? The basement geeks call me names?" asked Tony, genuinely shocked.

"Why wouldn't they? Because you are the great, wonderful, exceptional Very Special Agent Tony DiNozzo and nobody can criticize you? Or is it because you are Gibbs' favorite and heir? My God, you're acting just like Abby!"

At the same moment, Ziva's cell phone rang and the young woman made a grimace reading the name on the illuminated screen, showing a photo of a dark-haired, pig-tailed woman: it was Abby.

"Speak of the Devil and he appears," muttered the Israeli woman before picking up the phone. Tony returned his attention to his ankle, inwardly rejoicing from the fact he wouldn't have to deal with the Lab Rat for the moment as he had a bittersweet memory of their latest phone conversation.

"Yes?"

"_Ziva, this is Abby. Do you know where Gibbs is?"_

Vance's warning was still fresh in her ears as Ziva quickly answered: "No, I don't."

"_What do you mean, you don't know?"_

"Just like I've said, I don't know where he is for the moment! Today's Sunday and it was supposed to be our day off, but..."

"_Then why Gibbs isn't at my place? He was supposed to come and see me during the weekend and he never showed up. He is not answering my phone calls, once again! What in the world is happening?"_

"Abby, Gibbs has been assigned a secret mission by Vance and he had to leave D.C. in a hurry," said Ziva. She hated to tell lies but she truly didn't have any choice.

"_What? What's the mission about?"_

"How should I know? Like I've told you just a few seconds ago, it's secret and Vance isn't the kind of person you can pry information from."

"_But what's going on? First McGee is leaving for a secret project in Afghanistan, and then Gibbs leaves D.C. for another secret stuff and I am left all alone at home. I count for nothing, that's it? I am suspended and all of a sudden, I've become a ghost for my co-workers who are supposed to be my friends. I called Tony on Friday evening and he was too caught up with his silly problems about a review board to come and see me, can you believe it? And the same thing goes with Ducky and Jimmy; they both had plans for the weekend and they left me out to dry. At least Gibb didn't desert me, but now he has been sent off somewhere and no one knows a thing about it!"_

"Abby…"

"_And the same thing goes with you, Ziva. You never called and you didn't even try to knock at my door. We are friends, Ziva; why don't you come and see me?"_

"Abby, Vance put the team on duty all weekend. We worked all Saturday and I am currently at the bullpen with Tony, catching up on some cold cases and, as you can easily imagine, we have to do all the work by ourselves and it is rather long without Gibbs, you or McGee to help us…"

"_McGee can go to Hell. After the horrid things he said in the bullpen, plus him ratting me out to Vance, I'll never speak to him again!"_

Tony saw Ziva's beautiful eyes narrowing and a shiver crept down his spine: he had seen this look on the ex-Mossad officer's face before and it always spelled danger for whoever had crossed the line.

"What in the world do you mean?" said Ziva with an icy tone. "Tim only corrected you about the arrangements he has made for his dog and he remained polite in spite of the wild accusations you have thrown at his face. He never denounced you to Vance: you're the one who did it after you've screamed like a banshee in the bullpen, remember? You've made enough noise to wake up a dead man – in fact, you could have arisen a whole cemetery!"

"_It wasn't my fault!"_

"Oh, then whose fault was it?"

"_It was McGee's."_

"You are wrong, and you know it. Tim had done nothing but accept a mission in Afghanistan. No, Abby, you're the one who has overreacted and you are now facing the consequences. I've learned a saying in English class that says: "_What goes around comes around"_. I've asked Tim once for the exact definition and he compared it to the action of a boomerang: if you threw it carelessly, there are good chances it will come back and hit you on the face. Now, no amount of ranting and raving from your part will lift the suspension, or give you information about Gibbs' whereabouts – and accusing Tim for your mistakes is nothing but nonsense. McGee's departure is actually giving us all a good lesson about facing the consequences of our actions: Tony is learning it, so does Gibbs and me, and you should as well."

Abby's sobs could be heard in the earphone: _"I thought you were my friend, Ziva…"_

"I am your friend, Abby, but it doesn't mean I will accept listening to you for hours, accusing Tim for something he hasn't done. He had been blamed too many times in the past for your wrongdoings since he's too much of a gentleman to denounce you, and you took his patience for granted. Well, that was a huge mistake from your part, Abby: kind persons have their limits like everyone else and once they've reached it, they pack their things and walk out of their abusers without a backward glance. Meditate on this and don't call me again if you have only bad things to say about Tim because I won't stand for it, understood? In my opinion, McGee is a hero and anyone who says otherwise to my face will be in deep trouble. Good-bye, Abby."

Ziva shut down her phone, and then she turned her hard eyes on Tony, who was gaping wide-eyed at her.

"And that goes for you, too!" said the ex-Mossad firmly before returning to her desk.

Tony decided to stay on the safe side and let the matter drop for the moment.

* * *

><p>After a series of phone conversations, a few favors called in and a long drive to Maryland, Director Leon Vance finally reached Base Andrews by mid-afternoon. He stopped his car at the front gates and noticed the frown on the MPs' face at the sight of the NCIS emblem on his ID card, but thankfully they said nothing and indicated him the direction of the base's headquarters. Once he reached the building, a young MP showed up, <em>"Corporal Matheson, Security"<em> and offered him a ride aboard a jeep to the Detention Center – a euphemism for the brig.

Vance accepted as he was in a hurry to retrieve his man and get out of this base. So far he had managed to keep the whole matter silent but there was still the possibility of blabbermouths talking about a crazy agent who had irrupted in the base, and then the rumors would reach NCIS with dreadful consequences. Gosh, this mess would stick like glue to the Agency for years to come… unless McGee would do brilliantly in Afghanistan. The Watcher's success would restore NCIS' image but Vance wasn't sure he would be able to save Gibbs' job after his stunt with the MPs.

A few minutes later, Vance followed Matheson inside the Detention Center's maze of corridors and they finally reached the holding cells. The Director glanced around and there were no other "tenants" in the cages, something he was inwardly grateful for. He didn't need any witnesses for his upcoming and tedious conversation with Gibbs.

"The intruder is here, Sir," said Matheson, pointing at the cell at the far end of the corridor. "Do you wish me to stay?"

"No thank you, Corporal. You may go."

"Thank you, Sir."

Vance waited until the door closed behind Corporal Matheson, and then he walked towards the last cell. Indeed, Gibbs was locked up there, sitting on the bunk and staring at nothing. His face was marked with dark bruises and both his hands had been bandaged, an evident proof of the fight.

"You're a moron, you know that?"

"Hello to you too, Leon," answered Gibbs without bothering to look up.

"What, you are going to give me lessons in politeness, now? Coming from you, that's downright hilarious!"

Vance glared at his agent for a long time, and then Gibbs asked: "What do you want from me, Leon?"

"What do I want? WHAT DO I WANT? You truly have no clues about what I could possibly want and you call yourself an investigator? Well, here's a hint for you: do the words _"Adult behavior"_ ring a bell?" roared the Director. His toothpick broke in two inside his mouth and he tried not to grimace too much from the pain coming from the splints picking at his gums, but he was too furious at Gibbs to be stopped by trifles.

"For God's sakes, what made you act so stupidly? You thought you could barge in Base Andrews like you do in my office, punch the lights out of the poor souls trying to stop you, almost crashed into an oil tanker from your reckless driving and yell like a madman at a Boeing? Do you have any idea of the embarrassment you've caused? I had to spend two hours on the phone to plead your cause to Colonel McPherson so he won't drag your sorry ass in front of a court-martial, and then I had to call in a few favors so the scandal hopefully won't go further than the Base's gates, while muzzling your agents so they wouldn't yell all over NCIS about this incident – especially DiNozzo, who is notoriously incapable to stay quiet for more than three seconds. Miss Sciuto is not aware of your predicament and that's a good thing or we wouldn't have heard the end of it! I want an explanation, Gibbs, and I want it **now**; don't even try to make your usual tough-and-stoic-Marine act or you can stay here and enjoy Base Andrew's hospitality for all I care."

Gibbs remained silent during his superior's diatribe, and then he said with a sigh:

"I wanted to see McGee."

"What?"

Vance quickly removed the remnants of the toothpick from his mouth and, ignoring his bleeding gums, he came closer to Gibbs' cell.

"I wanted to see McGee, Leon. I wanted to tell him… Oh, Hell, I don't know! Things that a leader is supposed to say to one of his agent before he leaves, like staying on the alert, always trust his instincts, remember all the tricks he has learned on the field, stuff like that."

"And you waited for two goddamn days straight before finally take the decision to talk to him?" asked an incredulous Director.

"Yes, I did, Leon! I know I should have done it earlier but I was too shocked and angry by McGee's departure to think straight…"

"And too prideful to admit you have been wrong all along about the kid, and also too busy consoling Miss Sciuto about her "unfair" suspension to think about your agent. Am I right?"

"Just partially, Leon," said Gibbs, rubbing his bandaged fingers over his tired face. "I did think about McGee but my pride stopped me from knocking at his door and give him some advice about going on a mission abroad. I still have a hard time believing he had actually left the team… "

"What's more amazing is the fact he hadn't done it years ago," replied Vance severely. "Considering the ways DiNozzo, Sciuto and you treat computer techs, a lot of them would have punched you on the nose, Team Leader or not, before walking out and let you make your own ways in recovering data. You had a genius under your command, a man who would have walked on hot coals in a heartbeat just to please you, and the only things he got for his hard work were head-slaps and lousy pranks, courtesy of you and your surrogate son."

"**TIM IS MY SON!"** yelled Gibbs, his blue eyes suddenly getting back their inner fire.

Stunned silence followed the silver-haired man's declaration; Vance would never have thought, not in a million years, that Gibbs would ever have such strong feelings towards the too-quiet McGee. Like every brusque person, Gibbs would rather favor straightforward subordinates in spite of the fact that such an attitude would often lead to insolence – something the Team Leader would usually solve with a smack over the head. McGee's natural gentleness, doubled with a good education, hadn't prepared him to the harsh world of former-soldiers-and-cops-turned-Federal-agents; and yet the young man had endured the infernal pace and he had become a great agent over the years… The only thing that had lacked had been a few words of praise but McGee had had a snowball's chance in Hell to ever receive one from Gibbs.

"Have you gone mad?" asked Vance. "How in the world can you say that about McGee?"

"As far as I know, it's not illegal so get off my case, Leon."

"But you've made no mystery about you favoring DiNozzo! Heck, everybody at NCIS knows he's your star agent and you nominated him Team Leader in a snap, just before you left for Mexico. DiNozzo is proud as a peacock from you considering him as his surrogate son and he never misses an occasion to rub McGee's face in the mud about it."

"So what? Can't I have two adopted sons?" shot Gibbs back.

"Not if you indulge one too much over another. You praised DiNozzo but never said a word to McGee, how on Earth was he supposed to know you actually had some respect for him? McGee is no telepath and you never moved a finger whenever DiNozzo belittled him in front of the whole bullpen, or when Miss Sciuto's shenanigans put him in trouble. The kid thought he was your team's punching bag and he never said a word, hoping against all odds that you would eventually step up and put an end to the hazing but no, you just stood there and ignored him. Gosh, the only time you ever paid attention to McGee is when he finds clues about cases – heck, he could be the Invisible Man and it wouldn't make any difference."

"I know, Leon," said Gibbs, remembering too well his conversation with Ducky and Tim's comparison with a Jester: laughed at, listened to but never respected. "I acted like a jerk, I let Tony and Abby get away with it too often, I never understood McGee's passion for electronics and it has cost me my son."

"And probably more," added Vance, inwardly thinking about the shit-storm that would befall on NCIS in case the Base Andrews scandal would ever reach some high-ranking ears. Colonel McPherson was a good man but he couldn't guarantee the hush-up would last forever.

"That's why I wanted to see McGee; I wanted to tell him that I love him as much as I do the others, so I went to his flat but a neighbor told me he had already left. I drove all the way here but my gut kept on telling me it would be too late, so when the MPs blocked the way… I simply lost it. I barged in and when I saw that Boeing on the runway, I knew for sure it was McGee's flight. I wanted to drive alongside the Boeing and gesture at the pilot until he would have stopped taxiing, it would have given me one last chance to speak to the kid, but… a stupid tanker got in the way and I had to swerve at the last second. Before I could ever get out of my car, it was too late; the Boeing had left the runway and I could do nothing to prevent it. I was so angry, the MPs got too close… Well, the rest is history."

"Has it had ever occurred to you to wonder why the MPs stopped you at the gates in the first place?"

"What?"

"Guards on duty at Navy bases usually don't ask questions. If someone from NCIS ever shows up, that person would only have to pull out his or her badge to get a free access. But last evening, the MPs stopped you from entering: didn't you find this fact a bit odd?"

"No, I just thought it was another couple of zealous busybodies thinking too highly of themselves."

"OF ALL THE STUPID THINGS! GOOD GRIEF!" roared the Director again. "I've told you beforehand that McGee was leaving for a **secret** mission. He's involved in a project that could save troopers' lives: didn't you think it could interest our enemies as well? The kid had to leave the USA discreetly; Colonel McPherson agreed to let him hop on a plane belonging to the 79th Medical Wing to guarantee his security, and he also told the MPs to not let anyone from NCIS to enter Base Andrews to prevent potential spies from making a connection between McGee and any government's agencies. The fewer people know about him, the better and you could have compromised the kid's safety by yelling his name all over the base! We're lucky the noise from the plane engines covered your shouts and the MPs subdued you; otherwise, McGee's mission would have ended before it could have even started."

Gibbs looked down in shame; indeed, he had acted like a wet-behind-the-ears recruit, an attitude unworthy of his Marine experience. Shannon and Kelly would have been appalled by his actions!

"I'll turn in my resignation whenever you want me to, Leon."

"Oh no, you don't, Mister. I know damn well what's going to happen if you ever quit NCIS: you'd find a more-or-less legal way to travel to Afghanistan – a little phone call to a certain CIA agent goes a long way - and then you'd pester McGee at Kandahar, interfere in his mission and make another complete fool out of yourself. You are going to stay here at D.C., work your ass off about cold cases and wait patiently for the kid's return – and that's not negotiable, Gibbs. I had to call in favors to pull your ass out of the fire so I expect to be paid in return with complete obedience, no matter how many times it will make you choke on your oversized pride."

"It's your call, Leon," said Gibbs dejectedly. He was too upset by the loss of his son to be interested by the consequences of his outburst.

However, Vance wasn't the kind to kick at downed people; the Team Leader was obviously devastated by McGee's departure and it was a shock to see the usually confident, unshakable man in such a broken state. Besides, McGee wouldn't be pleased at the news of his boss' in trouble and his loyalty would probably cause the young man to drop everything and take the first plane back to the USA – regardless of his mission's importance.

Vance raised his eyes heavenwards in an attempt to pray for patience, and then he said:

"Grab your stuff, Gibbs: we're leaving this place."

"What? But how…"

"Did you honestly think I would let you linger in the brig, so anyone in the base could learn about your identity? Corporal Matheson has probably gotten new orders from Colonel McPherson, in the lines of releasing you immediately to my custody. With a little luck, this idiotic stunt of yours will be swept under the carpet but your team members are strongly advised to keep a low profile for the months to come – I've already told Agent DiNozzo of what would happen if he ever loses the control of his motor-mouth. You both are due for the review board so you'd better concentrate on what you are going to say, instead of speculating about McGee's accomplishments in Afghanistan. In fact, I daresay the kid is out of your reach so you step back and shut up. Got it?" asked Vance, while silently wishing he had a glass of water to rinse his bleeding gums.

"Got it, Leon," said Gibbs. On the outside, he was the perfect image of obedience but an idea was slowly growing inside his mind.

In fact, it had started right after Vance had mentioned a roguish CIA agent...

TBC…


	14. A lamentation

**Disclaimer**: same as Chapter 1.

**Author's notes:**

**To my dear readers and reviewers:** thank you so much for your steadfast support over this story. You cannot believe how happy I am every week when I read your comments and see how many people have logged in to read the new chapters. On top of a warm feeling in the heart, it also gives me confidence in continuing to write this story. And it's a fun way to improve my English skills, too! ;-)

I have to put this fanfic on 'hold' (because of two upcoming terms papers followed by a vacation) but it won't be abandoned. In fact, I am planning to post new chapters around mid-August, where we'll see Tim in Afghanistan working on The Watcher while Team Gibbs will count the days until his return… and there will be a lot of angst and drama. Sounds nice?

**HAPPY SUMMER!**

-"The Three Musketeers" is a novel written in 1844 in by French novelist Alexandre Dumas (1802 – 1870).

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 14: A lamentation<strong>

Only by Sunday evening could Gibbs close his house's front door behind him. God, what a weekend! Had he been a superstitious man, he would have sworn evil forces had been summoned against him: the harsh conversation with Ducky, a brainstorm with Pride and Good Sense fighting like wildcats, an impromptu trip to Base Andrews ending with a fiasco, a fight and a stay in a holding cell. Another two "bad days" to add to the way-too-long list of Gibbs' worst moments in life and it beat by a mile the one featuring his best moments.

And Tim was gone.

Gibbs made a grimace as if he had swallowed a gallon of pure citrus juice. Damn, even thinking about Tim's absence hurt! He walked down the stairs leading to his basement. It was late and he was too tired to work on his new boat – in his current state of mind, he would only manage to make a mess of the hull, sabotaging the watercraft before it could even touch water – but drinking a full gallon of Jack Daniels wouldn't require too much effort. After he had gotten him out of Base Andrew's (and scolding him all the way while driving back to D.C.), Vance had given him two days off to _"cool his head and get his ideas straight, if that is ever possible"_ so Gibbs could drink all night and not have to worry about showing up with a hangover at the office.

The basement was dark and silent but the silver-haired man didn't turned on the lights; he knew every corner of this room and he never left discarded tools or wooden planks lying about to make him trip at a moment's notice. He got the bottle of Jack Daniels and a glass out of a cabinet, poured himself a large one and lifted the glass to his lips; but, at the last second, a flash of anger illuminated his ice-blue eyes and he slammed the drink on the workbench, spilling bourbon on the smooth wood surface.

Good God, what was he thinking? Drowning his sorrows in alcohol and wallowing in self-pity while his son was flying right in the heart of danger? Shame on him!

"Think, Marine!" growled Gibbs out loud. "Think like a soldier, not like a weak-minded fool who falls apart at the first contrary wind!"

An internal nod from Good Sense made his brains' clogs turn full-speed. Vance may have benched Gibbs and he would have to keep a low profile for months to come, but the Director would be powerless to stop his obstinate subordinate from discreetly calling a few old acquaintances. That old rascal Ben Thompson, from the Marines Corps; Burt Butler, who had left the army to become a mercenary – a disreputable individual, but resourceful and always present in war zones; or even Paul Simmons at the Pentagon – it would take a bit of prying, but Gibbs could use that incident in the Moscow bar to give more weight to his arguments. And, as a last resource, there was the Option Trent Kort, OTK for short.

Gibbs suddenly shuddered and the glass of Jack Daniels looked more appalling than ever. Kort was about as reliable as a horned viper: he had a multitude of hidden agendas dictating his every moves and it was impossible to know whether he obeyed CIA's orders, somebody else's, or if he was simply freelance. Gibbs remembered too vividly the time when Kort, riding a desk after the "La Grenouille" fiasco, had offered his help in finding one of NCIS's most wanted criminals and he managed to walk out with $300 millions' worth in illegal assets. The CIA executives had concluded Kort was more dangerous in an office than out in the field; consequently, they had sent him in neck-breaking missions as far as possible from D.C., in the hopes the rogue agent would meet his end in unstable countries where people didn't ask questions about disappeared foreigners. So far, it hadn't happened.

The ex-Marine frowned at the idea of asking that particular man for his help; he and the CIA agent weren't exactly on speaking terms since Kort represented everything Gibbs abhorred: disloyalty, unreliability, deviousness, falsehood and selfishness – the exact opposite of McGee's character. It was probably why Gibbs refrained from letting his youngest son stay in presence of Kort for too long; not that he worried that Tim would somehow become fascinated by the CIA agent's twisted personality – the kid had too much inner steel for that – but his gut clenched painfully at the thought of this man of shadows being in close contact with his child of light.

And yet, maybe Gibbs would have to resign himself in making that dreaded phone call to keep Tim safe. Provided Kort would accept to go to Afghanistan…

Another sigh, and then the silver-haired man collapsed on a nearby chair. He was feeling old and tired all of a sudden, probably due to the fact that for the first time of his life, he didn't know what to do. Loosening Kort in Afghanistan would probably cause more trouble than anything else; Vance would be livid with rage and Tim would also be furious at his Boss' intrusion in his life. The young man had made it clear this special project was his alone and he was experienced enough to be spared the presence of a roguish babysitter. Also, Gibbs couldn't help but feel that his concern was arriving too late; Tim had needed his support years ago and, ironically enough, it was manifesting itself after the kid had boarded on a plane.

Gibbs reached out for the glass of bourbon, but then his hand bumped into a regular surface resting on the workbench. Picking it up, he realized it was a wooden photo frame protecting a photo; in spite of the dim light, Gibbs had no trouble recognizing the persons behind the small glass panel: it was a picture of his team members, taken on the occasion of a Fourth of July barbecue held in his garden. Tony was on the foreground, raising a can of beer in salute with a triumphant smile on his face, his other arm slung over Ziva's shoulders. The ex-Mossad had an ironic half-smile on her lips as she held a plate filled with grilled chops. Ducky was on the right side of the picture, trying to keep Palmer in the shot while Abby was on the left in all her Gothic glory, pointing at the American flag entirely made of blue, white and red sequins on her T-shirt. McGee was in the background, staring at the camera...

"Oh, God…" whispered Gibbs as he was suddenly taken aback by the expression on his computer tech's face; _the kid looked so sad!_ Of course, the barbecue had been punctuated by Tony's lousy jokes, Abby's exuberance and Ducky's history lessons about the Fourth of July (in an effort to educate Ziva) but McGee had been quiet for almost the whole day, earning a salve of nicknames like _"McDull", "McLame" _and_ "McBoring"_ from the Senior Agent. As usual, Gibbs had been too distracted by Abby's incessant chattering – plus the fact she accidentally burned one of her fingers on the barbecue's grill, which caused a drama of epic grandeur – to notice the blatant discomfort of his youngest. Tim looked withdrew, almost desperate to melt in the décor as if he couldn't believe he belonged with Team Gibbs any longer.

"Oh, Timmy, what an imbecile I've been," said the ex-Marine, gently tracing the contours of McGee's face on the glass panel. "You've been suffering for so long and you hid it so well, I never saw a thing. But you're wrong about what you've told Ducky, so wrong. You are not a jester: you're my son! My second-born Prince, my genius kid, the brains of my court – don't you realize how lost we would all be without your brilliance, your input? You make magic with keyboards and, more importantly, you prevent us from becoming too harsh and cynical with that shining soul of yours. But you thought you were overlooked by the King and you chose exile, in the hopes you'd be more appreciated abroad. Tim, I swear on Shannon and Kelly's graves that I've never considered you as less important than Tony, Ziva and Abby. I've made a lousy job showing it, I'll grant you that but I will make it up to you, I swear – I'll sign a pact with the Devil's best representative with my blood, if needed. I will…"

"**GIBBS! GIBBS! GIBBS!"** shouted a strident female voice at the exact moment when the lights of the basement were switched on.

The older man groaned in pain as the hash light hit his eyes and, for a second, he considered grabbing his gun and point it at the intruder – just before his vision cleared and he realize it was Abby running down the staircase. He promptly put the framed photo back on the workbench and got on his feet.

"What's the matter, Abby?"

"What do you mean, what's the matter? You disappeared, that's what's the matter!" shouted the Goth, visibly upset. "I've spent the whole day looking after you, calling your cell phone every half hour and you never answered! I managed to call Ziva at NCIS and she told me she had no idea where you left, telling me a cock-and-bull story about you being assigned a special mission by Vance – on a Sunday, yeah right! Does she really think I'm that gullible? I may be on suspension but I haven't left my brains at the lab!"

"Abby…"

"What happened about that famous Rule no. 3, _"Never be unreachable"_? As far as I know, it applies to every member of the team, no exceptions. You should practice what you preach!"

"Look…"

"And I am still not re-instated! Ziva told me I should sit still and wait until the six weeks are over and make my _mea culpa_ – well, I'll be damned if I do! You assured me you'd convince Vance to lift my suspension and so far I haven't heard a thing."

"Abby…"

"It's like I count for nothing within the team and NCIS. As if I've never helped in solving cases or arresting criminals for years. Some nerve! I have single-handily neutralized my stalker! I want you to…"

"**ABBY! Will you shut up for a second?"** roared Gibbs in a rare display of anger. He usually never lost his temper towards his favorite but the too-long day at Base Andrews' brig had dangerously reduced his natural-born short temper. He hadn't had a decent cup of coffee during the past 24 hours, for God's sakes!

The Lab Rat blinked out of surprise and then her lower lip started to tremble; why would the Team Leader shout at her? She hadn't done anything wrong! She had just looked all over town for him as her silver-haired fox never answered her calls or texts. It had been the worst week of her life – McGee leaving, she being blamed for her behavior, kicked out of NCIS, her friends unable to help her – and she had looked forward for a weekend at Gibbs' house, watching him work on his boats while she would have poured her heart out about the unjust punishment Vance had given her. But instead, she had spent the day driving through D.C. and driving all her acquaintances crazy with her anxious questions.

Gibbs saw Abby's eyes shining with tears and he immediately gave her a hug, aware that the woman would fall apart if she didn't receive immediate comfort from the man she considered as her father.

"Look, Abby, I'm sorry. It has been a long day and I'm tired."

"But what have you been doing?" said Abby, sobbing against the ex-Marine's shoulder.

Gibbs thought fast; mentioning Base Andrews was quite out of the question – Vance had been very clear on this point – and it was safer to play along with Ziva's lie. It was probably the first time the Team Leader was happy that one of his subordinate agents had lied but he took a mental note to not let Ziva turn it into a habit.

"I had to do something for Vance – a milk run, really, but it couldn't wait and I had to leave my cell phone and ID to not involve NCIS in this mission. Even Tony and Ziva didn't know what it was about and I was forbidden to say a word about it. As you are well aware of, Vance is quite angry with our team for the moment so I couldn't refuse doing a chore…"

"I am not to blame!" exclaimed Abby, relinquishing her hold on the older man, her eyes red from unshed tears. "Nothing that happened to the team is my fault!"

"You're right, Abby – in fact, everything that has happened recently is **my** fault," said Gibbs, frowning severely. "I failed as a Team Leader, I let too many things unsolved between my subordinates, creating a situation where one of us is suffering from our misdeeds and I am unable to do anything about it."

"That's right! I've been suffering for days about being sent home like an incapable; Tony is only concerned about that silly business about a review board and Ziva complained about having more work to do during my absence, can you believe it? They have completely forgotten what had befallen me; I thought we were friends and they would defend me no matter what but no, they just sit still and look at their navels. And all the other agents at NCIS laughed at me!"

"Abby, I was talking about McGee's sufferings," corrected Gibbs.

The Goth woman stared at the ex-Marine, as if she could hardly believe what her ears had just heard. Her stupefied expression would have been funny in other circumstances, but Gibbs didn't feel like laughing at all. Obviously, thinking about McGee's reasons for leaving the US hadn't crossed her mind and it would take a long time before Abby would start considering that they all had been too callous towards the computer tech – including her.

"What do you mean? We've never hurt McGee!"

"Yes we did, Abby – and the sooner you'll accept it, the better. We all played a part in his decision to go in a war zone for whatever project a bigwig has concocted and, if we ever wish for a chance to win him back, we'd better take a good look at ourselves and admit the truth."

"But what have I ever done to Tim?"

"Oh, come on, now! Don't play dumb, it really doesn't suit you."

Abby started to sulk: "If it is about that business of me dating him before he joined NCIS, then I am not responsible. How was I to know he'd become one of my teammates?"

"That's not the point, Abby. The fact is, as soon as he came became one of us, you used his feelings towards you to get whatever you wanted – a personal link at MTAC, extra hands to help you at the lab, a bodyguard to accompany you at rock concerts, a boyfriend if nobody else was available on Saturday nights, and so on. You damn well knew McGee wouldn't refuse you anything because, somehow, he kept hoping you would become his girlfriend again but once the needs were over, you pushed him away in favor of the first jerk you've met at a party."

"Hey, what about _"Never date a co-worker"_?" answered Abby back, her face like thunder. "Timmy and I would be married by now if it hadn't been for your stupid rules!"

"Married? Give me a break; you have the same fear of commitment as Tony and I! It isn't my greatest accomplishment, by the way. I should have told you that being in a loving relationship is the greatest thing that could happen in your life – God knows, the only times I've been truly happy had been during my marriage with Shannon – but you can't wish for this kind of miracle if you consider a person only as a mean to an end. In my case, the three ex-wives were a mean to end my solitude; in yours, Tim was your back-up plan. Well, a friend is not someone you take advantage of!"

"But…"

"Like I've said, I don't blame you. I've set a bad example and now I have to live with it. Too bad McGee has to pay for our actions but then again, the poor kid is used to it…"

"**I'VE NEVER HURT HIM!"** screamed Abby at the top of her lungs, but even here her protests sounded hollow. Gibbs turned his attention back to the discarded photo without adding another word, puzzling the Lab Rat – why on Earth would he constantly look at that frame? Sure, the photo was a great souvenir of that Fourth of July barbecue but there were more pressing matters at hand. Since a direct attack hadn't worked, Abby opted for a diversionary move:

"Look, Gibbs, I cannot think clearly outside my lab. I need to be there to take stock of the situation, see? I'm sure I'll be able to figure out what the Hell is happening to our team once I'd be reunited with all my "babies" – I need to be in a tidy place whenever my ideas get confused; it helps calming me down and besides, I'd be certainly more useful working on cases than being locked up in my apartment, twiddling my thumbs. That's why it is vital for me to be re-instated as soon as possible and you are the only one who can convince Director Vance to rescind his decision. This whole thing is sheer madness, by the way – how in the world does Vance think you guys can work without me? We're the best team of NCIS but in order to keep our number-one position, we need to stay together. One for all, all for one, just like in _"The three musketeers"_ movie, to quote Tony!"

"Abby, I've already told you Vance won't relent. Accept your punishment and be a better person from it."

"HOW DARE YOU SAY THIS TO ME? You said you'll always have my back!"

"Yes, well it wasn't a license to act the fool, especially in front of the whole bullpen. You should have known better than making a scene to McGee and besides, since you know him so well, you should have realized he wouldn't abandon his dog in a kennel. Tim can hardly be accused of cruel behavior towards animals – and don't even start to mention him shooting at Jet, otherwise I will say things both of us will bitterly regret in a close future."

"Gibbs! I did nothing but protect an innocent dog from being executed."

"And you've blamed Tim for the whole matter, regardless he was suffering from deep bites on his neck and shoulder. Mind you, like I've said earlier, I'm the main culprit – I should have shown some concern about his well-being instead of letting you make a scandal all over NCIS. Do you know what I've overheard in the men's bathroom, about a week after this incident? I clearly heard Williamson asking McGee: _"What's a good man like you doing in a team of jerks?"_ and Tim never answered, obviously too embarrassed by the question. Of course, I disregarded Williamson as a jealous bastard at the time, but with retrospect I'm starting to think that maybe he had hit the problem head on."

"You can't be serious!"

"Rule no. 51, Abby: _"Sometimes, you are wrong"_. It's a rule I've learned way too late in life and it had caused me to make too many mistakes; however, Tony, Ziva and you are young so you still have the possibility to change before stubbornness ruin your lives."

"But you can't be wrong! You're never wrong!"

"Thank you for the vote of confidence; I used to believe that, too… Until Tim's departure opened my eyes but once again, it was too late," said Gibbs as he picked up the frame from the workbench. He remembered he didn't have any other pictures of his youngest and, since he was on leave for the next two days, it would give him enough time to find a photo center and ask if Tim's image could be isolated from the group's, and enlarged. Maybe Gibbs could make a frame to protect the new photo…

Abby nervously ran her hands through her pigtailed hair; things weren't swinging in her favor and she could hardly recognize her silver-haired fox in this broken, pensive man. Her usual tactics – indignation, hugs, protestation, cajoling – had failed one after another and she was getting at her wits' ends to find a way out of this mess. Finally, she opted for the argument of her imperiled finances:

"Gibbs, I really need to work; otherwise I won't be able to pay the rent at the end of the month. My fridge is nearly empty and my car is running out of gas as I've spent it looking for you all over town. Vance doesn't realize how hard it is for a single woman to lose her income! It is impossible for me to live for six weeks without money; I…"

"Abby, do you remember Mawher?"

The question cut short the Lab Rat's diatribe.

"W-What?"

"After **you** opened the door to Mawher and got almost killed, I blamed McGee for **your** disobedience. I told him he wasn't worthy to sit on an office chair and he had to work on his knees for a week while enduring Tony's lower-than-imbecilic sarcasms. I acted like a total bastard towards the kid, simply because I couldn't accept the idea that **you** were the one responsible for this mess in the first place. And McGee took it like a man; he never argued, never protested and did his undeserved punishment without a word of complain. Heck, he didn't even bore a grudge against you. He showed a great lot of dignity and in the end, I was the one who got so ashamed I couldn't wait to give him his chair back. Now, doesn't that make you think that you could follow his example?"

Abby, too furious to answer, turned heels and climbed the stairs in a furious stomping of her platform boots, making a noise imitating the charge of a herd of elephants.

"Look, if you need money, I'll be happy to provide you with…"

"Go to Hell, Gibbs! You don't want to help me getting my job back? Well, I don't want to have anything to do with you!"

"Abby!" protested the older man, but only the loud slamming of the house's front door answered him.

Gibbs sat down again on the chair, worn out by the day's events and discouraged by the discussion he just had with Abby. He knew he should go upstairs and lie down for hours of well-deserved rest, but he had one last thing to do before sinking in the oblivion of sleep. Holding the framed photo to his chest, he closed his eyes and did something he hadn't done for a very long time.

He prayed for his lost son.

TBC…


	15. An opposition

**Disclaimer**: same as Chapter 1.

**Author's notes:**

- Hi, I'm back! Vacation has been fantastic! It's back to work now and there is still a term paper looming above my head, but at least I am reunited with my computer. Hope you'll like this new chapter!

- I am absolutely ignorant about the US Army so I apologize if some details are not accurate (my only source is Wikipedia).

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 15: An opposition<strong>

A sudden jolt pulled Tim out of his slumber. Gasping out loud, blinking like an owlet, he opened his eyes just to be blinded by harsh light coming out of small, rounded windows. Tim groaned and rubbed at his emeralds, trying to make them work properly after hours of sleep followed by a sunlight overdose. After a while, his vision cleared and he realized the Boeing C-40 Clipper had indeed landed at Bagram Air Base after an uneventful flight and it had been the shock of the wheels touching ground that had woke him up. The members of the 79th Medical staff were also strapped to their seats but they looked tense, ready to jump into action as soon as the Boeing would stop taxiing on the tarmac; the US forces lived in constant fear of attacks upon army bases – especially after the one launched on Bagram in 2007, which ended with 23 dead and 20 wounded – and the precious medical supplies had to be unloaded and sent to hospitals without wasting a single minute.

Tim stretched his long limbs, feeling stiff from having being curled up on his seat for hours; his parched throat longed for a hot drink but the only thing available was a half-filled bottle of water. He was still holding the laptop bag and he suddenly realized he had slept cradling his computer against his chest as if he had been afraid someone would have tried to steal The Watcher while travelling aboard a secure US Army plane, thousands of feet up in the air.

"_Tony would have had a field day if he had seen me hugging my laptop like a Teddy bear,"_ thought the young man, and then he scolded himself: what was the use thinking about DiNozzo? Tim was miles away from his less-than-amiable colleague and he had a job to do; it wasn't the time to think about gibes and sarcasms and other niceties the Senior Agent lavished upon him every day. In fact, this mission was the perfect opportunity for Tim to discover his worth, far away from Gibbs' barking and Tony's persiflage. He was a trained Federal Agent with a high I.Q. and years of experience in the field; he had seen corpses in a terrible state and he had even witnessed the death of a fellow colleague: the stuttering, wet-behind-the-ears probationer was gone, replaced by a seasoned agent and only a pair of mule-headed NCIS agents would steadfastly refuse to acknowledge how much McGee had grown up since he had started to work for the government.

The young man glanced at the Boeing's visual warning signals located on the curved-panel ceiling and the one about fastening seat belts got switched off. As on cue, the plane was immobilized in front of a huge warehouse; Tim glanced though the nearest window and he saw trucks and soldiers patiently waiting for the unloading of medical supplies. The 79th medical staff jumped out of their seats and started collecting their stuff before rushing out of the plane, without paying a second glance to the quiet young man who had travelled with them. Tim hadn't taken offense of their ostracism: his mission required discretion and the less people knew about him, the better. Besides, it was better to remain quiet until he would have a talk with General Stephenson, who was supposed to meet him in person at his arrival... Tim glanced at his watch (he had set it on Afghan time after the Boeing had left the United States) and apparently the plane had arrived right on schedule: he would have hated it if General Stephenson would have been forced to wait for him under the blazing sun.

McGee took a quick gulp from the water bottle, and then he discreetly checked on the Dark Dove strapped beneath his dark green shirt. He grabbed the computer bag and his jacket in a swift movement, and headed for the door. The scorching heat surprised him as soon as he stepped outside; Tim had read dozens of books about Afghanistan and he knew about its continental warm arid climate. Temperatures could climb up to 104 F in July and it could feel even hotter in the desert – according to Ducky's notebook, the heat could make you feel being beaten up and down by red-hot pokers while your brains were frying inside your skull. McGee sighed at the thought of him making various trips in the desert to test The Watcher, but what must be done had to be done.

The young man climbed down the stairs and stepped foot on Afghan land. Glancing around, he couldn't see General Stephenson or his _aide de camp_ anywhere – however, the unloading of supplies from the Boeing C-40 was done in a flurry of activity, men lifting crates and settling them in trucks under the supervision of a nervous, short-sized, barking-mad Sergeant sporting a battered cap firmly set on his bald skull. His unblinking eyes watched every movement and the littlest infraction – like a soldier wiping his brow or another coughing from the dust – was loudly mocked and blamed, making the privates work while glancing hatefully at the Sergeant.

Tim frowned at this verbal abuse – it reminded him of unpleasant memories of DC – and then he spotted his trunk near a crate with the mention "Medical supplies, handle with care" painted on the sides. Without giving it a second thought, McGee grabbed his trunk's handle and started to walk away, just to be stopped by a stentorian voice yelling:

"**JUST WHADDAYA THINK YU'RE DOIN', MIST'R?"**

Tim turned about and, sure enough, the Sergeant was staring at him with murderous eyes. However, the young man had been yelled at for eight years by the unofficial King of Louts and the Sergeant's outburst paled in comparison with Gibbs' bear-like attitude on the days when the coffee machine was broken.

"I am merely taking my luggage, Sergeant," answered Tim.

"_**I AM MERELY TAKING MY LUGGAGE, SERGEANT**_**," **repeated the short man, cruelly mimicking McGee's calm voice.** "WHERE D'YA THINK YU ARE, JFK? THIS AIN'T AN AIRPORT FOR SISSY CIVILIANS, YU OAF! YU AIN'T ALLOWED TO TAKE THINGS OUTTA PLANES AS YU PLEASE! PUT THAT TRUNK RIGHT BACK WHERE YU TOOK IT AN' CONSIDER YURSELF LUCKY I DON'T ARREST YU FOR TAMPERING WIF A MILITARY OPERATION!"**

Tim inwardly sighed: he knew he would have to deal with bullies during his stay in Afghanistan but he had kind of hoped it wouldn't start as soon as he would have stepped out of the plane.

"No."

"**NO?!"** roared the Sergeant, his face turning redder than a sunburned tomato. The soldiers stopped their loading and unloading to stare at the tall civilian who had dared to stand up against their slave driver, visibly surprised by the turn of events.

The Sergeant walked towards McGee with a murderous look on his face, but the young man remained rooted on the spot.

"**YU SAID NO? YU DARED? D'YU KNOW WHO I AM?"**

"I regret I have no idea, Sir."

"**YU HAVE NO IDEA, EH? WELL, LET ME TELL YU! I'M SERGEANT MILLER AND YU'D BETTER REMEMBER THIS NAME, FOOL! I'M IN CHARGE OF THE SUPPLIES ON THIS BASE AND NOBODY MESSES WIF MY STUFF. MY CRATES, MY STUFF! MY PLANES, MY STUFF! MY TRUCKS, MY STUFF! AN' I DON'T LIKE IT WHEN SOME SNOT-NOSED CIVILIAN DRINK O' WATER SHOWS UP AND START MESSIN' WIF THE UNLOADING OF MY PLANES! SO PUT THIS TRUNK BACK AND MAKE YURSELF SCARCE, GOT IT?"**

"These are my personal belongings, Sergeant, and I am looking for…"

"**YU'RE LOOKING FOR A STAY IN THE BRIG! YU WON'T OBEY, EH? WELL, NOBODY MESSES WIF SERGEANT MILLER AND GETS AWAY WITH IT! FLEMING, DELF!" **called Miller out to two soldiers who were heaving a crate in a truck. **"GET YUR LAZY ASSES OVER THERE AND ARREST THIS MAN!" **

McGee felt an icy arrow of fear pierce his chest; he was dealing with a madman, so drunk with the little power he possessed he would tyrannize the poor souls under his command all day along – and Miller obviously loathed civilians, which could bring out the question of how he would react once retirement time would come. A few years ago, Tim would have let go of his trunk but his time as a shy, insecure man was over. He knew that if he relented, this irascible Sergeant would make his life in Kandahar a living Hell for the next six months and The Watcher couldn't be compromised by an imbecilic bully. Since he couldn't present himself as a NCIS Agent due to the secrecy of his mission and Miller wasn't the kind to listen to people, maybe a more physical approach would do the trick.

The two soldiers designated by Miller started to move towards McGee, prompting the young man into action. His hand slid beneath his shirt and the Dark Dove sprang out of its sheath; then he pointed the tip of the very-sharp blade at the Sergeant's crotch in a movement so swift it was barely noticeable!

"Call off your men, Sergeant," hissed Tim in a low voice, grabbing Miller by the front of his shirt.

"**WHAT?" **gasped a livid Miller, floored by this sudden menace of emasculation coming from a civilian.** "YU…"**

"I said, call them off!" repeated McGee, adding a little pressure on the Dark Dove for persuasion's sake.

"**FLEMING, DELF! BACK TO WORK!"**

"You're sure, Sergeant?" asked one of the soldiers. "You said…"

"**DO AS YU TOLD, DELF, YU MORON!"**

The soldier went back to the truck without adding another word. The other one, however, stayed where he was to observe the scene: he had noticed the movement of Tim's hand whereas his comrades had returned to their duties, unaware of their superior's predicament.

"Now, Sergeant Miller, kindly let me go about my business," added Tim.

The Dark Dove was pressing dangerously against the bottom of the Sergeant's pelvis and, while obtuse, Miller was quite aware of the damages this tall man could do with a blade aiming for his private parts. It wasn't fair! He was a Sergeant and neither grunt nor civilian had the right to threaten him! But Miller would rather go to Hell than call for help: he wasn't the most popular officer and those blackheads serving as soldiers wouldn't hesitate to slander his name all over the base, telling again and again about how the Sergeant's balls had almost been cut off by a anonymous stranger right after he had disembarked from a plane.

"**YU…," **stuttered Miller, half-crazy from indignation and fear. **"YU… YU…"**

"Are just the man I was looking for," said a third, no-nonsense voice which cut Miller's upcoming diatribe with the sharpness of a razor blade.

Tim glanced around and recognized the tall, grey-haired man standing next to them: it was General Stephenson, having arrived at long last. McGee immediately released the Sergeant and made the Dark Dove disappear under his shirt in a movement worthy of a conjuror's, before stepping back and saluting Stephenson. He briefly felt mortified at the thought the General would be furious about this confrontation with Miller, but his fears were promptly erased by Stephenson's calm words:

"At ease, son," said the officer, his world-weary eyes fixed on the young man holding a nylon bag that could contain the answers to a lot of problems. "Welcome to Afghanistan. Where's your luggage?"

"Right here, Sir," answered Tim, pointing at his discarded trunk.

"Roberts?" called Stephenson over his shoulder and a young caporal – apparently his _aide de camp_ – came forward with an eager look on his face.

"Sir?"

"Load this trunk in the jeep so we can get a move on."

"Right away, Sir!" said Roberts, grabbing the trunk's handle and dragging it towards a nearby Jeep before Tim could even react.

"Sergeant Miller, you may go," added Stephenson with a disdainful glance towards the belligerent man.

"**BUT, SIR!" **sputtered an apoplectic Miller.** "HE… HE…"**

"He is under _**my**_ orders, Sergeant… unless you have an objection?"

Miller looked just like he had just swallowed a boxful of sour strawberry ice cream: His face was purple, his eyes were bloodshot and his mouth was twisted in a terrible grimace, as if he was getting ready to launch a salvo of protests. However, Stephenson's eyes turned as hard as flint and, dumb as he was, Miller wasn't foolish enough to contest this General's authority.

"**N-NO, SIR…"**

"Good, now leave at once, Miller. I'm busy."

"**SIR, YES SIR!"** said the Sergeant, saluting in a servile movement before turning heels and resume his attention to the Boeing's cargo. Stephenson nodded to McGee to follow him and they walked towards the Jeep where Roberts was already loading Tim's trunk. The General suddenly grabbed Tim's arm:

"Did you tell Miller your name? Or anybody else for that matter?"

"No, Sir!" said Tim. "I spoke to no-one since I have boarded the airplane at Base Andrews, last night."

"You didn't tell the Sergeant you were an NCIS agent, did you?"

"No, Sir. I thought it would be better to conceal my identity until I would receive your orders."

"Good man! Vance was right when he said you were smart. Sorry about this incident with Miller; he's the worst Sergeant of the whole US Army, totally unable to shut his mouth – he would have yelled you were a Federal Agent all over the neighborhood as soon as you would have told him, and God knows we need you to work on The Watcher without having to worry about spies."

The General shook his head, apparently crossed at the thought of Miller having witnessed McGee's arrival at Bagram, and then he smiled and gestured towards the Jeep: Roberts was at the wheel, already waiting for them with the motor's running.

"Hop in, son. Kabul is a 56-minute drive from here. I will explain your mission once we will reach the ISAF Headquarters."

* * *

><p>An hour later, Tim was comfortably seated with a glass of iced tea in hand in General Stephenson's office. It was a Spartan one with only a desk, a computer, two chairs, an American flag standing in a corner and a huge map of Afghanistan pinned on the wall. There were no decorations or photographs, no books on the shelves, no rugs on the floor, giving an impression of seriousness and concentration on work inside the room.<p>

At their arrival in Kabul, Tim had been quite impressed by the International Security Assistance Force's Main Headquarters but he hadn't had the opportunity to play tourist. Roberts had driven the Jeep through one of the ISAF's secondary gates and then the vehicle had stopped in the shadows of a building. Stephenson had led McGee through a maze of corridors and rooms while Roberts had stayed behind. Tim had noticed General Stephenson had walked through the corridors quickly and efficiently, not paying attention to the men and women passing by or working behind their desks. It felt as if Stephenson wanted Tim's presence to remain as inconspicuous as possible – until he would be granted a military status that would avoid being asked embarrassing questions about his presence within the ISAF.

"I am glad you're here, McGee," said Stephenson with no forewarning. "The Watcher could make quite a difference in this war; two days ago, a Hummer heading for Kandahar had barely missed a landmine that had been placed in the middle of the road. If the driver hadn't swayed to avoid a shepherd and his flock crossing the road, we would have lost three soldiers and a damn good Lieutenant! This kind of attacks has multiplied by ten over the past few months and our enemies' goal is clear: they want to stop us from using the roads, thus isolating our other bases and making them easy targets."

"Has it been possible to find out the kind of landmines used in these attacks, Sir?" asked Tim.

"Unfortunately, no: the only things we have been able to recover so far were charred remains and a few shards of glass, but they were too small in size and too damaged to allow identification. However, it is certain our enemies have acquired an important number of those mines and they are resolute in using them: they gain glory by killing our men and they make us look powerless to our allies! Time is running out, son: since we don't know what kind of mines is used, we can't figure out who is our enemies' supplier and neutralize him. This is a heavy responsibility I am placing upon your shoulders but The Watcher **must** keep our convoys and vehicles safe while giving us some more time for finding the culprits."

General Stephenson looked at the young man seated in front of his desk and noticed, to his satisfaction, that Tim's green gaze never faltered. Yes, Vance had been definitively right when he had described Agent McGee: courageous, intelligent and reliable, an asset to NCIS and with a brilliant future in the Federal Agency. If McGee succeeded with The Watcher, General Stephenson thought, nothing could stop the kid to become Vance's successor... and even rise so high in the NCIS hierarchy it would leave his competitors to suffocate in a cloud of dust.

"I will work night and day if needed to make The Watcher run, Sir," said Tim.

"I know you will. Now, about your status within ISAF," said Stephenson while grabbing a few papers on his desk. "Since you can't keep your Federal Agent title because of the secrecy surrounding The Watcher, you are now Lieutenant McGee of the Finance Corps, which is as you know a Combat Service Support and the smallest branch of our army. Your official mission is to supervise potential contracting with the local industries; people won't be surprised to see you work with numbers on your computer all day long. When you will run trials with The Watcher in the desert, your absence will be explained by meetings with potential business partners outside town. As Lieutenant, you'll have your own private quarters; I have chosen one with a secured metal locker to keep The Watcher safe at nights."

"Thank you, Sir."

"Roberts must be waiting outside my door so as we speak. I've told him to provide you with a proper uniform, show you around and answer all your questions. My _aide de camp_ is the very soul of discretion: do not hesitate to ask him anything. The cover story is you being a pencil pusher working for me about contracts with builders and such, so a lot of officers here will consider you as unimportant: apart from Roberts and me, nobody in ISAF must know about The Watcher so I count on you to disregard any snide remark you may have to endure. Patience and endurance are the key to our future success, son."

Tim had a bitter smile: "Please don't worry, Sir. I am used to this kind of comments and it had never distracted me from doing my job."

Stephenson frowned lightly at those words, but decided to let the matter drop for the moment. Important matters were at hand and he couldn't keep McGee in his office for too long as he had meetings to attend and his absence could raise questions.

"Director Vance wants an update about your progresses every Friday if my memory serves well, so you will be granted access to the videoconference services only on this peculiar day. See with Roberts for details like the time difference and the safety of the links. One last point: always keep your weapon on you. We may be protected by top-notch security here at ISAF but there is no such thing as zero risk here in Afghanistan. You have a handgun, I suppose..."

"Yes, Sir: I was allowed to take my service weapon from NCIS."

"Good, then always keep it on you – and that includes when using the showers or the commodes. Never stay unarmed at any moment, is that clear?"

"Yes, Sir."

General Stephenson had a mocking smile: "By the way, what is it that you are hiding beneath your shirt, the thing that had such a calming effect on Sergeant Miller?"

Tim blushed slightly when he took out the Dark Dove and presented it, handle first, to General Stephenson. The older man grunted in approbation at the sight of the impeccable weapon and its sharp blade that could go straight through a man.

"Now I understand why Miller was so shocked! I wouldn't like to be threatened by this kind of weapon, either."

"I am very sorry about this incident, Sir," said Tim quickly. "I really didn't want to clash with Sergeant Miller but a _qui pro quo_ has led to an altercation. The Sergeant thought I was stealing from the plane whereas I was just retrieving my trunk. The situation quickly worsened and I couldn't risk being arrested as it would have raised a ruckus, so..."

"Don't worry about this, son," said Stephenson while giving the weapon back to Tim. "Miller is a natural-born loudmouth who had never bothered to learn how to think and this incident will give me a chance to keep him away from ISAF for a good while. Besides, you acted quite discreetly – I almost didn't notice Miller's balls being held at knifepoint! Where did you get this blade, by the way?"

"It was a departure gift from a friend."

"It must be a good friend, then, considering the quality of this knife."

An image of Ziva, with her beautiful dark eyes and her slim features, flashed inside Tim's brains.

"That's right, Sir," said McGee, hoping the General wouldn't notice the reddening of his ears.

"Good. You're dismissed, _Lieutenant_ McGee. Take the rest of the morning off to get your bearings and I expect you to work on The Watcher right after our midday chow."

"Aye-aye, Sir," said Tim. He saluted and walked out of the office. Just as the General had predicted, Roberts was waiting on the other side of the door, eager to show McGee the whole ISAF buildings; the two men started the tour straightaway, with Roberts talking with much enthusiasm about this NATO-led security mission in Kabul and its multiple purposes.

Meanwhile, in the silence of his office, General Stephenson muttered quietly with an amused smile on his face: "It must be a good friend, indeed... And this lady has good taste in knives!"

TBC...


	16. An installation

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- Details about the Marine Corps Combat Utility Uniform (MCCUU) come from Wikipedia.

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><p><strong>Chapter 16: An installation<strong>

Roberts started his tour by taking Tim straightaway to the barracks and show him 'his personal quarters':

"Here you are, Sir!" said the young corporal after having unlocked a door and switched on the ceiling light, revealing a room the size of a walk-in closet, its walls painted entirely in black. A cot had been placed in the far end of the room and a steel locker was standing on the left hand. There were no windows, no table or chair and the only source of air was coming from a vent fixed above the bunk. Tim's trunk had been placed on the right side of the room and there was a Marine Corps Combat Utility Uniform neatly on the cot, along with a pair of combat boots, folded blankets and sheets, and a handbook containing information about Afghanistan.

Tim quickly scanned his 'personal quarters': no windows mean less opportunities for thieves to try breaking in and steal The Watcher. The vent was too small for a burglar to crawl into the air ducks – unless said burglar would have the height of a toddler. The locker had a facility for padlocking and there was a power socket in the wall so Tim would be able to work on his laptop at nights, the trunk serving as a table. It was certainly a pocket-sized room but it fitted his needs for privacy and security; Roberts, who had feared an outraged reaction from Stephenson's 'special civilian' about the accommodations, was floored as McGee exclaimed:

"It's perfect, Roberts!"

"Ah? Er... Well, that's good, Sir, very good indeed," said the corporal, inwardly relieved by Tim's good-natured reaction. "I leave you alone so you can put on the uniform and drop your bags, and then I'll guide you through the base."

"Good idea, Roberts. Thank you very much."

"You're welcome, Sir. I'll wait outside."

The door slammed behind Roberts and Tim instantly checked on the locker: it was large enough to store the laptop in. He opened the nylon bag and took out a five-ring word lock he had bought especially for this mission; he placed the precious computer and the bag inside the locker and secured its door with his word lock: only he knew the combination, as he didn't trust the army-issued one and, according to the manufacturer, about 100,000 combinations were possible with this kind of latch. Anyone trying to steal his laptop would need a lot of patience trying to find out what the password was, and the word lock was too strong to be cut by a pair of pliers.

Satisfied that The Watcher has been secured, Tim quickly stripped off his civilian clothes and donned the uniform provided by Roberts: olive green T-shirt, moisture wicking socks, blouse and trousers with MARPAT desert pattern, belt, cap, dog tags and combat boots specially designed for hot weather. The blouse bore both the Finance Corps insignia (a gold-colored diamond on a grey rounded background) and the Lieutenant's insignia sewed on the sleeve, while Tim's identity ('Lt. T. McGee') was printed above the left chest pocket. Remembering Stephenson's recommendations, Tim took the time to secure the Dark Dove under his T-shirt and his service weapon in his belt holster. The unpacking of his things would have to wait: he had to do the complete tour of the base with Roberts and see where his future working place would be, before hitting the mess hall for a well-deserved lunch.

Tim suddenly chuckled at the realization he was wearing a Marine Corps uniform; his father would have a fit if he could see him! Stating that Admiral McGee had been extremely disappointed after learning his son wouldn't join the Navy right after high school was a euphemism: he had ranted and raved so loudly some neighbors had even considered calling the police. The Admiral had proclaimed loud and clear that Tim becoming a worthless computer tech would simply dishonor the proud name of the McGee family and how he would never amount to anything. Mrs. McGee had echoed her husband's words, even suggesting Tim could have overcome his seasickness if he really had wanted to (regardless of the doctor's diagnostic about Tim's vertigo was due to an asymmetric dysfunction of the vestibular system in his inner ear).

The situation had worsened after Tim had earned two degrees from two of the most prestigious American universities; exasperated by his son's brilliance, McGee Senior had steadfastly refused to attend to Tim's graduation ceremonies. But the icing of the cake had been the news that the younger McGee had accepted to work for NCIS: for the Admiral, members of this law enforcement agency were nothing but a bunch of skivers running after AWOL drunk Marines. Tim had protested, stating NCIS was assigned to security, counter-intelligence, counter-terrorism missions by the United States Department of the Navy, but his father had refused to listen. In the end, Tim had thrown in the towel, resulting in a seven-year estrangement between him and his parents.

Tim sighed, and then he rubbed his eyes in a desperate gesture to erase those bad memories. He needed to stay focused on his mission and thinking about how his father, or Gibbs, or anyone else would react about him playing soldier in Afghanistan was a waste of his time; he had the support of affection of persons who truly cared for him and that was all that mattered. He was on an undercover mission right in the middle of a war zone, General Stephenson counted on him to improve The Watcher, and Tim had to admit he was starting to like the old man.

He took a few deep breaths to let his assumed identity as "Lieutenant McGee, Finance Corps" to sink in, and then his emerald eyes shone with a renewed ardor. He stepped out of his room, startling Roberts who was standing just outside the door. The young corporal's eyes widened at the sight of Tim's metamorphosis: apart from the too-light skin, Stephenson's 'special civilian' could easily pass for a true soldier. The uniform fitted him like a glove and it was obvious McGee had some military education, considering the way he was holding himself.

"With all due respect, Sir, you look just like one of us!" exclaimed Roberts. "The only thing that's missing is a tan but you'll get one soon under this goddamned climate, that's a certainty."

"Thank you, Roberts. Shall we get on with the tour?"

"At once, Sir!"

* * *

><p>At the same moment and thousands of miles away, Leroy Jethro Gibbs was in his house's basement, counting the hours before he would be allowed to get back to work. Vance had granted him two days off with the direct orders to keep a low profile until the ruckus about a certain fight at Base Andrews would calm down, and for once Gibbs hadn't contested his superior's decision. To tell the truth, he had been so disheartened by Tim's departure that he hadn't stepped out of his house for the duration of his enforced 'weekend', apart for a quick trip to the hospital for his bruised ribs – having to endure the lecture of a snot-nosed intern who had repeated over and over again that his patient was too old to be involved in bar brawls!<p>

In a normal day, Gibbs would have given one of his trademark glares that would have turned the doctor into a puddle of goo, but he had simply ignored the insect in a white coat before getting out of the hospital in a rush, barely taking the time to grab a prescription. His basement and a bottle of Jack Daniels, that were the only things Gibbs needed and he had lived like a recluse, making a new frame for Tim's photo and refusing to answer the phone or the door.

However, his mind hadn't stopped thinking about various means to keep an eye on Tim without being noticed; but so far, the plans he had made had hit a snag: Ben Thompson was in Iraq, not wanting to be reachable according to his angry wife; the whereabouts of Burt Butler were a complete mystery – probably working as a hired gun in a war-plagued African country; Paul Simmons had made it clear that he wouldn't compromise his career by using the Pentagon's resources without his superiors' approval, all this to try and locate a man in Afghanistan. As for Trent Kort, Gibbs hadn't decided to pick up the phone to call him: unleashing the Beast abroad really wasn't a good idea; in fact it could end up with a major diplomatic incident endangering the frail relations between Afghanistan and the USA, resulting with Vance banging his fist on his desk before asking Gibbs for explanations.

The ex-Marine had then decided to rely only on his own resources; he had enough experience with war and the military to find out where Tim had been deployed. A map, some documentation, a thorough following of the news on TV and, given time, he would deduce the location of his lost son. Of course, if Tim had been here, he would have found the solution in a snap by typing on a few keys! But Gibbs was still a dunce about computers and it was a fact he wasn't overly proud of: he had worked for eight years in the company a genius and yet, he hadn't deigned to ask McGee for advice about improving his computer skills. First, pride had stood on the way: a Team Leader wasn't supposed to be outsmarted by one of his subordinates. Later, intellectual laziness had prevented Gibbs from signing up for training: why bother learning anything about those damned machines when you have an Agent who did all the work in your stead?

It was certain lack of prowess with computers was sadly missed in this time of crisis, but Gibbs wasn't the kind to cry over spilled milk. Besides, once he had located Tim and made sure he was safe, he would ask the kid for private lessons in computer science once he would be home and safe. Heck, Gibbs would even buy the latest and most expensive models in gizmos if needed, and it would create quite a shock in the neighborhood! Everybody around knew the sullen ex-Marine's only electronic possession was a barely-working cathode-ray tube TV, which could explain why burglars had never bothered to pay him a visit in spite of the unlocked front door.

Lost in his thoughts while meticulously sanding the photo frame, the silver-haired man almost missed the footsteps walking down the basement's stairs:

"Boss?"

Gibbs inwardly groaned: he really wasn't up for a visit by DiNozzo for the moment.

"Yes, DiNozzo?"

"May I come in?"

"You already have, DiNozzo," pointed out Gibbs while putting down the photo frame on the workbench. "What do you want?"

The Senior Agent looked a bit puzzled by the welcome; Gibbs had always said his door was open to him anytime (and to the other members the Team, as well) and Tony had often come whenever the job had been too hard to endure. Gibbs would listen to his Agent's woes while working on one of his boats and the conversation would usually end with a few harsh, 'masculine' words of advice and two glasses of bourbon – but Tony's instincts told him it wouldn't be the case this evening.

"Well, I just wanted to see how you were faring," said Tony with a multi-million smile, the one that infallibly charmed the ladies – or so he thought. "I mean, after the... er... incident at Base Andrews, Vance didn't tell us if you had been banged up enough to need medical help and, considering your hatred for hospitals, I thought maybe you'd like me to take you to Ducky and..."

"I'm fine and I am certain Vance told you this incident was to be revealed to no one, including Ducky and Palmer. I went to the hospital for the fat lot of good it did and I have no intention to ask another opinion, not even from Ducky. As for Abby, well, she paid me a visit two days ago but she was too caught up with her problems to notice my bruises when she hugged me, thanks goodness."

"So they did get the upper hand on you?"

"Yes, they did, DiNozzo!" said Gibbs with a hint of anger. "There were thirty of them against the one of me, what did you expect? In case you haven't noticed, we are not Superman's sons."

"The versions with Christopher Reeve or the one with Brandon Routh?" asked DiNozzo with a grin.

"Does it look like I give a damn about your movies?"

Tony was slightly taken aback by this comment; he had boasted about his cinematographic knowledge since the beginning of his career as a Federal Agent and Gibbs had never, not once, expressed annoyance about his movie quotes. Tony had thought for sure Gibbs knew it was his personal way to release pressure in stressful situations, just like the older man would drink tar-like coffee or Ducky telling amazing stories from his past. Why was his Boss suddenly belittling him about his movies? And then, the solution came to Tony's mind: Gibbs hadn't appreciated his stay at Base Andrew's brig, courtesy of McGee the quitter.

"Look, Boss," said the Senior Agent while sitting down on the stairs, "I know you're upset by the latest events..."

"Ya think, DiNozzo?" asked Gibbs sarcastically.

"But I really think you're overreacting. Sure, the departure of McDelusional has surprised us all, I never thought he would actually have the nerve to do this kind of things but since he's gone, the next best action is to carry on as if nothing has happened. I mean, computer techs are so common on the marketplace we won't have any trouble in finding a replacement – and the new guy won't work in our team for very long, since McDeserter will come back from Afghanistan in the next couple of weeks, his mission a total failure and begging you to give him his job back. Maybe you could confiscate his desk, just like you did with his office chair after the Mawher case? It was a riot to see Probie working on his knees!" concluded Tony with a chuckle.

Gibbs kept silent for a minute, torn between the idea of smacking his Agent on the head so hard it would have popped his eyes out of their sockets, or pouring himself a glass of Jack Daniels large enough to forget about what he had just heard. Tony actually thought of Tim as a quitter? A deserter? And he thought it would be easy to replace him?

"**Are you out of your mind, DiNozzo? How in the world can you say such callous things about McGee, after having worked with the man for more than seven years?"** roared Gibbs loud enough for the whole street to hear.

"But, Boss..."

"If that's what you really think about McGee, then I have spectacularly failed your training! McGee is **neither **a deserter **nor **a quitter, he is **not **delusional and if I hear you calling him names once again, you'll be kicked out of NCIS so fast it will make your head swim!"

"Boss! You can't say that McGee's skills as an Agent are exceptional! You keep him behind a desk all the time whenever Ziva and I are out on the field."

"And what do you think it proves, DiNozzo?"

"Well, for once, it proves that you don't trust him enough in the field because he doesn't have the competences; he's good with the surveillance stuff, being our eyes and ears during operations with his cameras and computers, but that's it. He can't fight, he can't fire a shot without killing undercover cops and he can't talk without stuttering like an idiot. A great recruit for our troops in Afghanistan, for sure!"

**TWACK!**

The head-slap had efficiently cut Tony's diatribe short. Feeling murderous, Gibbs turned about and drank a shot of Jack Daniels before he would do something both he and DiNozzo would regret! The Senior Agent rubbed at his head, groaning from the pain; on top of everything, the shock had made him bit on his own tongue.

"Get outta here, DiNozzo."

"Boss…"

"I said, OUT!"

"Please, Boss... You're not going to fire me, do you? I may have exaggerated a bit about Probie, but I love this job and… C'mon, I don't need this, not with the review board coming!" pleaded Tony.

Truth to be told, he was starting to feel nervous. Gibbs was more than his boss; he was his mentor, his surrogate father and so far, Tony had never suffered a rebuff from the ex-Marine. Oh sure, he had lost count of the smacks on the head he had received, and Gibbs had told him more than once to put the brakes on his motor-mouth during cases. But Tony was aware of his natural lack of concentration (it had prevented him from being a good student, and after a cop appreciated by his superiors in Baltimore); Gibbs' gruff calls to order had been a godsend, keeping him on tracks at all times and allowing him to become Senior Field Agent. Earning this title had been Tony's second moment of glory, the first one being when Gibbs had publicly said he considered him as his son – something Tony was overly proud of. But he also dreaded the idea of losing Gibbs' favor: every time the ex-Marine had expressed interest towards another person, Tony had desperately tried to win back the top rank in his boss' good books – even though his position hadn't been imperiled in the first place.

Ziva had warned him his insecurity would play a bad trick on him one day, but Tony had brushed off the criticism. He wasn't insecure; quite the contrary, he was the epitome of self-confidence; he wasn't a green-horned probationer scared of his own shadow: he had years of experience in the field and he knew his job damn well! Still, Gibbs' recent outburst had made a small fissure in his aplomb, something unheard of in the life of Anthony DiNozzo.

Gibbs had a heavy sigh, and then he considered DiNozzo; he couldn't blame the kid from being an arrogant, inconsiderate fool: he had trained him to be like this. Gibbs hadn't shown an once of consideration about McGee's intelligence; no, he had always put down his youngest son with harsh retorts like: _"In English, McGee"_,_ "Cut the techno-babble, McGee" _or _"I asked for this information three seconds ago, McGee; why haven't you found it yet?"_ and his Senior Agent had been too happy to join the fun in the _'Disparage-McGee-all-day-along'_ game. Tony was nothing but the reflection of his mentor and the said mentor had no one else to blame for this situation but himself. Besides, the review board was not an idle matter and Tony was obviously upset by having to endure this kind of ordeal; by no doubt his hazing would come up with a vengeance and he would have to justify his actions.

"Look, DiNozzo, I don't want you to yell all over the bullpen that McGee is, according to you, a deserter and a quitter. Do you have any idea what kind of impact it would have on the Team? Our reputation is already severely damaged; the last thing we need is you adding fuel to the fire. Besides, it is absolutely wrong of you to even think such a thing: McGee deserves our respect for the work he has done in NCIS all these years."

"Oh come on, Boss! As if typing on a keyboard was a huge accomplishment..."

"**Yes, it is!"** roared Gibbs for the second time. "McGee has worked his ass off since he's joined the team; we wouldn't have been able to solve the three-quarters of our cases without his technological input and the sooner you'll admit it, the better. We live in a time where all vital information is stocked up in those damned computers and, even if I don't like it, I can't do anything against it apart hiring a man who can provide us with data in a snap of the fingers. I've told you more than once that time is an essence during cases: we can't stay paralyzed at our desks, desperately waiting for information while the murderers get away with it. Why do you think we have such a high crime-solving rate? Is it only because of our efficiency in the field, Ziva driving like a maniac or Abby's experiences in the lab? Well, it is also due to a man who has pointed us in the right direction since his beginnings at NCIS and this man's name is Timothy McGee. We're a **team**, Tony: every one of us plays an important part, and at an equal degree; cohesion can't be achieved when a member is constantly riled and ridiculed, simply because he has a high I.Q. instead of a big mouth."

"Boss..."

"I can't blame you for your attitude; I have set the wrong example and now I am dealing with the consequences of my actions. I should have taught you to respect McGee's intelligence instead of turning a blind eye to your puerile hazing but I was only focused on cases, cases, cases. I wanted you to become as quick and efficient as possible, since time is always running out in our job. Many murders had been unsolved because of agents wasting precious hours searching for information and I didn't want that. But I also should have taught you all the importance of teamwork since you aren't mature enough to learn this concept on your own, obviously! And this is my greatest failure as Team Leader."

"Boss, that's not true! We have everyone's six on the team – even McGee's! Okay, I did play a few pranks on him but it was to toughen him up and..."

"TOUGHEN HIM UP? Supergluing his keyboard, telling lies about his sexual preferences, betraying him for a mission in Iraq, you call that 'toughen him up'? You've only succeeded in McGee distrusting you for the rest of his life!"

Gibbs drank some Jack Daniels down the hatch and the alcohol burned his throat before settling uneasily inside his stomach; probably due to the fact that it was too full of gastric acid to appreciate the Bourbon...

"We were damn lucky to have McGee in our team, and we treated him like dirt – no wonder he left for a war zone, I am certain he'll get more consideration out there than within our Team! So you'd better reconsider your past misdeeds and prepare yourself to do a major _mea culpa_ in front of the review board if you want to salvage your career. Those guys are a tough, by-the-book bunch and they don't take it lightly when they are presented with blatant cases of hazing (which is against NCIS policies, by the way), sexual discrimination (idem), absence of teamwork and vandalism (our computers are the government's property, including keyboards). And that's only a few of the accusations the review board can pin on us; something tells me its members won't have any trouble finding witnesses among th. As Team Leader I will take full responsibility for our actions, but the review board won't let you off the hook easily. There are people within NCIS who don't like us, Tony, and they'd be too happy to see our disgrace – including Abby. She isn't the most popular scientist in the place: many have called her a scarecrow, a crybaby and a snob because of her adamant refusal to have an assistant, and her latest scandal about McGee's dog isn't going to help."

Tony remained silent for a minute; he hadn't realized things were so bad. He had always considered that, as long as they benefited from Gibbs' protection, they could do as they please during and between investigations. Gibbs was like the world's most powerful lighting rod, able to fend off the worst tempests but obviously, Tony had been wrong in his assumption. And there was the matter of his own actions, as well: for almost eight years he had daily insulted, taunted and belittled one of his teammates, ignoring the fact they worked in an open space area. Some agents were jealous of their crime-solving rate and doubtless Tony's bad taste in jokes would be used as arguments against Team Gibbs.

"I-I never thought, Boss…"

"You never thought about consequences, have you, Tony?" asked Gibbs sadly. "Well, neither did I. That's the big difference between McGee and the both of us: _Tim has the ability to learn; we don't_. Now we are in a damned situation and we'll be lucky to keep our badges after all this. I have been nothing but a stupid old fool, and you own a lifetime of amends to McGee when he comes back from Afghanistan – because he **will** come home safe, and I am ready to bet this house's ownership his mission will be a success. But don't take Tim's forgiveness for granted, Tony: six months in a war zone will toughen him McGee more than ten millions of your lousy pranks and he will be a changed man once back in the USA. We can only pray he'll keep his heart intact, otherwise I'll never forgive myself if Tim comes back a broken, hardened and embittered man simply because I've been unable to drill into that thick head of yours the basics of teamwork!"

TBC…


	17. A situation

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- In Greek mythology, Pandora is entrusted by Zeus to the guardianship of a lidded jar with the order to never open it. But curiosity gets the best of her: Pandora opens the jar and evils are unleashed, despite her efforts to close the lid back. Only the Spirit of Hope remained as it was stuck at the bottom of the jar (from Wikipedia).

- '_An Officer and a Gentleman'_ is a 1982 American film directed by Taylor Hackford and starring Richard Gere, Debra Winger and Louis Gossett, Jr.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 17: A situation<strong>

Two days had passed since the discussion in the basement, and the team had went back to work at NCIS. But Team Gibbs was in a somber mood: without a computer tech and a forensic scientist, they were doomed to compile electronic files in the network's archives, a boring-to-tears job for people used to action out on the field.

In fact, keeping Gibbs behind a desk was a recipe for disaster but the ex-Marine had accepted this demotion without raising an eyebrow. He knew his crippled team couldn't be put on charge of murder cases, not until Abby would be back from suspension and the Director would have found a substitute for McGee. Abby's return was a matter of a few weeks, but finding a new computer tech… that was a different story. Vance had warned him the guys from Cyber Crimes wouldn't line up to volunteer for working with Team Gibbs – and the silver-haired man damn well knew why: Tony's pranks and disparagements had done wonders in discouraging the other computer techs to ever try to walk a few steps in McGee's shoes. And after Abby's recent scandal about the dog Jethro, a rumor had spread like wildfire through the whole NCIS building, about a computer tech's life being worth less than a dog's; no doubts it had confirmed the Cyber Crimes guys to steer away from Team Gibbs if they valued their lives and their sanity.

The older man sighed before taking off his reading glasses to rub his face, and then his tired eyes fell on Tim's desk; it was too neat, too quiet, too… lifeless. McGee didn't have an exuberant personality _à la Abby_ but his calm presence was sadly missed nonetheless. Gone were the electronic gizmos which had been Tim's passion; the black desktop computer screen looked like a mourning sign of the young man's absence; the silent phone was a cruel reminder that it was useless to call this number. And Gibbs' hate towards himself was increasing every minute, knowing he was sole responsible for his son leaving in the hopes of greener pastures, even if it meant getting killed in a war zone. Tim leaving had been similar to open a Pandora's Box but this time, even Hope had fled.

Ziva David, seated at her desk, raised her dark gaze to stare at the Team Leader: Gibbs was definitively taking Tim's absence the hardest. The angry, resentful part of her would like to tell the silver-haired man that he deserved to be miserable for his past actions but her stronger, reasonable part stopped her from doing so. Throwing accusations won't make Tim come back any faster, and they were already in deep trouble within NCIS: they needed to fight between themselves like a bunch of savage cats (or was it wild cats?) like they needed a bullet between the eyes! No, thought the Israeli woman, they needed to stay strong and focused: the storm above their heads would pass and, by presenting proofs of good behavior, maybe Vance – currently at the MTAC room – would grant them more interesting cases that would lift Gibbs' spirits, even for just a little bit.

Ziva was dearly concerned for Tim and she checked her e-mail box every five minutes to see if he had sent a message, but so far she hadn't received a thing. After she had been sent back to Israel, she and McGee had exchanged e-mails once a week and this silence was quite unnerving. Of course, she knew Tim was adjusting to his new surroundings in Afghanistan and he would have to work straightaway on this mysterious project, but the young woman hoped with all her heart that her friend would be allowed a few minutes to send a note. Ziva lightly touched the gold Star of David pendant hanging around her neck and silently prayed for heavenly protection for Tim.

The elevator's doors opened with a chime and Jimmy Palmer stepped out of the cabin; he wasted no time in finding Ziva and approached her desk, deliberately ignoring Tony and Gibbs. However, the Team Leader never noticed the assistant M.E.; DiNozzo was staring unblinkingly at his computer screen, lost in his thoughts. That was a good thing since Jimmy was pretty crossed at both men and he wouldn't have stand the impoliteness and name-calling which were the usual greetings he received from Team Gibbs.

"Hey, Ziva."

"Hello, Jimmy. What's up?"

"Well, Ducky would like you to correct a few mistakes you've made on your report about the Morris shooting case. On page one, you wrote _"shot from the hop";_ page three, there is the mention _"a bullet grassed his arm"_ and, on the last page, the suspect is said to _"have tried to make a nun for it."_"

Ziva let out a sigh at the realization of her spelling mistakes, a sad reminder that Tim had always accepted to re-read her reports before submitting them and writing in English was more difficult for the Israeli woman, still upset by the departure of his friend.

"Sorry about that, Jimmy. I'll correct the report and print a new copy right away, okay?"

"Sure, I can wait," said the assistant M.E., sitting on a corner of Ziva's desk.

Tony was glued in front of his computer screen, his face resting in his hand, bored out of his mind: files to archive, files to archive, was it any job for a Senior Agent? This kind of chores was to be granted to probationers or the geeks downstairs, not to an agent of his stature. He glanced furiously at the empty desk next to his: they were grounded like turbulent children, and all this thanks to McWhiner! In spite of the conversation he had with Gibbs in his basement, Tony was still having a hard time admitting he had acted wrongly towards Probie. Jokes, pranks, name-calling, it wasn't such a big deal, now, was it? A real man should know to endure this kind of abuse, just like Richard Gere swallowing mud and running under the rain for hours under the harsh supervision of Louis Gossett Jr. in the _'An Officer and a Gentleman'_ movie. McGee had cracked under the pressure – even if it had taken him eight years to do so – so it can only mean he wasn't cut for the job at NCIS, regardless of Ziva's firm statement about his progresses.

Tony was certain McGee's phobias and allergies would get the better of him and prompt his return to the USA in a matter of days, and then Gibbs would kick him out for not being a team player. Vance would have no other choices than to find them a new computer tech and, once her suspension would be over, Abby would be back at her lab (that Peterson fellow wasn't a friendly guy, in fact, he had been downward hostile towards Tony and the Senior Agent couldn't understand why: he hadn't played a prank on him yet!). Of course, Tony would have to break the new guy but his mentor wouldn't mind… er, would he?

A commotion made Gibbs to look away from McGee's desk. Muffled sounds of protests mixed with angry shouts could be heard from the elevator's cabin, making the other agents to stop on their tracks. Gibbs thought for a horrible second that it might be Abby trying to bulldozer her way back to the lab in spite of Vance's orders; if it was the case, then she could kiss her career at NCIS good-bye! But the elevator's doors opened with a soft electronic 'ding', letting in the bullpen a middle-aged couple. The man was wearing a dark Navy uniform with a plethora of medal bars on his chest, sleeves stripes with a gold star above them and his cap was firmly planted on his buzz-cut hair. The woman following him was dressed in a brown skirt and jacket, obviously looking upset with her red-rimmed eyes and the crumpled piece of paper she was holding tightly in her fist. Both of them were sporting a beautiful tan, a telltale sign they had been abroad recently but judging by their angry demeanor, they didn't come all the way to NCIS to describe their vacation.

Gibbs's gut clenched painfully as he recognized the man's blondish-brown hair and straight nose, the woman's shape of mouth: his Junior Agent bore exactly the same features…

_Admiral and Mrs. McGee. Oh, jeez!_

"**WHO'S IN CHARGE OF THIS DUMP?"** roared the Admiral with a stentorian voice, making everyone in the bullpen – except Gibbs – jump a feet up in the air. Jimmy was looking at Tim's parents with rounded eyes behind the frame of his glasses, making him look like an owl; and Tony had nearly fell from his chair out of surprise, after being lost in his thoughts for hours. Mrs. McGee was discreetly dabbing at her eyes with a paper tissue, as if she didn't dare to express her grief too openly in front of her husband.

Gibbs never hesitated. He stood up and said: "May I help you?"

"**I DIDN'T ASK FOR YOU, FOOL!"** roared the elder McGee, looking disdainfully at his interlocutor's civilian attire. **"I WANT TO SPEAK TO THE MAN MANAGING THIS BUFFOONERY, AT ONCE!"**

Gibbs glared at the Admiral, his blue eyes cold enough to stand the comparison with an iceberg. McGee had told his teammates once about his father disapproving of his job at NCIS but, as usual, they had shrugged off his woes, stating they were nothing compared to being related to an indifferent businessman (DiNozzo Sr.), an inflexible Mossad Director (Eli David) and a couple of ghosts (Abby's unknown biological parents). Little did they realize their colleague had to deal with such a hostile man as a father during his whole life…

"This _"buffoonery"_," said Gibbs in a frosty tone, "is a government's Federal Agency and you, Sir, are very close from being kicked out of it with my feet up your ass if you don't mind your attitude!"

The Admiral looked shocked for a couple of seconds, and then a dangerous gleam shone in his grey eyes: "Do you know who I am? I could break your career so fast it wouldn't even be funny…"

"And I could break your neck so easily it wouldn't even be noticed, _Sir_," answered Gibbs, putting as much disdain as possible in the last word.

The Admiral face was turning purple from indignation, while Mrs. McGee let out a pitiful squeak of terror. Ziva had rose from her office chair after having done a quick but efficient search through her desk's drawer; Tony had gotten on his feet as well, ready to spring into action. Jimmy's pleasant face was getting red out of barely-repressed anger. After having witnessed Admiral McGee locking horns with Gibbs, some of the bullpen's other agents had also made a discreet move towards their weapons, as a precaution.

"**I am Admiral Robert McGee and I command you to take me to this agency's director, and quickly before I have you arrested for blatant disrespect towards a four-star flag officer of the Navy!"**

"Right now, I don't care if you are the living reincarnation of the god Neptune," said Gibbs through gritted teeth. "I happen to know Director Vance is on a meeting so you'd better take a seat and calm down!"

"**And who are you?"** roared the Admiral.

"I'm Special Agent Gibbs."

"Gibbs? Then you're the man responsible for this?" repeated Mrs. McGee while waving the crumpled paper in her hand.

The ex-Marine tore his eyes off the rubicund face of Admiral McGee to look at his spouse.

"I'm responsible for _what?_"

"For this!" screamed the woman, forcing the paper into Gibbs' hand. "Tim has left the USA for some crazy mission abroad!"

Gibbs quickly read the text written on the paper: it was Tim's farewell letter to his parents, telling them about a special project in Afghanistan requesting his input and he had to leave DC in a hurry. It was also expressing his regrets for not being able to say good-bye in person but he understood his parents' wish for peace and quiet during their trip to India and, should the worse happen, his solicitor would contact them for arrangements. Tim concluded by saying he loved his parents and wished them the best.

"Ma'am…"

"You're his boss, aren't you?" screeched the woman. "Our son told us years ago that he was working for you in this pencil-pusher place, wasting his talents away for a bunch of worthless cases about Marines too drunk to go back to their bases before muster, and yet you abandon him in a war zone to get killed!"

"Let me handle this, Anna!" interrupted the elder McGee, obviously annoyed by his wife's interruption.

"Ma'am, NCIS is a Federal agency," said Gibbs, his patience running dangerously thin. "I am not allowed to discuss cases with you but let me tell you we don't spend our time filling up forms. And Tim is an asset to our team, providing us with invaluable data to solve the most delicate matters. He's also an excellent field agent and I am certain he will succeed in his mission in Afghanistan."

"WHO ARE YOU TRYING TO KID?" shouted McGee once again. "MY SON? HE IS UNABLE TO LOOK AFTER HIMSELF, LET ALONE IN A FOREIGN COUNTRY!"

Tony discreetly nodded in approval, but then he took one quick glance at Ziva and a shiver crawled down his spine: her dark eyes locked on the elder McGee like a hawk swooping on a prey, its sharp talons extended to the maximum. Tony suddenly remembered her promise about showing zero tolerance towards those who would disparage Tim in front of her. At the time, he had thought it a hollow threat but the Senior Agent should have known better: Ziva never said something she didn't meant.

"And what do you know about your son?" shot Gibbs back. "You haven't talked to him in years, you are barely aware of his brilliance and you have ostracized him simply because he got fed up of you ignoring him. For your information, Tim has worked as a Federal Agent for eight years and he has leant a lot, both in the field and at work. He's the smartest man I have ever met and I am damn proud of him!"

"What?" whispered DiNozzo, shocked beyond belief.

"I have no lessons to receive from you," said Admiral McGee, his face getting redder by the second. "You are a war relic playing office Drill Sergeant but you wouldn't have lasted one week under my command. As for my son, he's a disgrace and nothing you can say will change my opinion of him. For six generations, we McGee have fought for our country out on sea and we have paid in blood and sweat our dedication to duty. My grandfather's ship sunk at Pearl Harbor in 1941. My brother died during Operation Frequent Wind, just before Saigon's fall. Our family had defended the colors of America on the seven seas, apart from my useless son who cannot step foot on a ship without puking his guts out, a testimony of his cowardice!"

"_**That's not true!"**_ exclaimed a voice in the background. Heads turned to see it was Jimmy Palmer, looking downright furious with his eyes blazing behind his rounded glasses.

Tony thought he was in his bed, in the throes of a nightmare from having eaten too many pepperoni pizzas the evening before: the Autopsy Gremlin was actually standing against an Admiral?

"Tim is no coward," continued Jimmy in a calmer, but firm, tone. "His seasickness isn't due to nervousness but to a medical condition; no amount of insults or threats can change it and it is completely absurd to pretend otherwise."

"I'll deal with you later, worm!" snarled McGee. "By the time I'm finished with you, you'll be lucky enough if they let you clean the bathrooms of this garbage lot."

"Is that supposed to scare me?" retorted the young man. He was ready to start another round of argument but the discreet pressure of Ziva's hand on his arm stopped him.

"As for you," said the Admiral, his face only inches from the ex-Marine's, "your dithyrambic comments about my son don't impress me. I know my boy; he's a coward with delusions of grandeur, hiding behind computers to make people believe he's a genius whereas he is a nothing. So he can type on a keyboard; am I supposed to award him a medal for that? You don't win wars with math, but with courage and determination and Tim has none of it. At least he had the good grace to go and hole up in this agency of skivers so we could erase the shame of his very existence out of our lives, and then what happens? Tim leaves for Afghanistan, without even having the guts to tell me in person!"

"It'd be hard for him to do so while you're vacationing in India, half-way round the world," said the acerbic Gibbs. "Besides, what do you care? You haven't contacted Tim for seven years and suddenly you're worried about him? Yeah, right!"

"I don't have to justify myself to you. My son is a good-for-nothing and I will tell the director of this farce to bring him back to DC at once, otherwise there will be Hell to pay; the only thing Tim knows is to make a fool out of himself and…"

At the same moment, Ziva appeared at Gibbs' elbow; the Israeli looked at the Admiral straight in the eyes, smiled and made an elegant movement of the wrist, as if she wanted to deploy a decorated folding fan in an eighteen-century ladylike manner.

But instead of an implement made of paper and wood, it was _four shining blades_ that appeared in her hand.

Mrs. McGee gasped in terror, her indignation disappearing in a flash at the sight of these sharp-looking, thin knives just inches away from her husband's throat. The elder McGee's face paled within seconds, his eyes glued on the young woman with the delicate features and the hard eyes, her hand armed with steel. Gibbs grunted slightly from his Agent's move – he had told Ziva many times to keep her favorite weapons in her desk's drawer to avoid accidents, but he couldn't blame her from presenting them, up close and personal, to the pathetic individual that had sired Tim.

Ziva's hand was steady as she held her blades too close for comfort to the Admiral, with the visible intention to use them very soon. In the bullpen, people were looking gob-smacked at the scene but a few agents were actually smiling from the turn of events – including Jimmy. They hadn't been happy by the Admiral's description of their jobs and agency and a little payback was quite welcome.

The situation would have gone on for a long time – Ziva wanting to pin the elder McGee like a butterfly, Mrs. McGee standing agape, Gibbs torn between telling the Israeli woman to stop or keeping on enjoying the show, the Admiral staying paralyzed on the spot – if a loud voice coming from the mezzanine asked:

"**What's going on here?"**

Everybody raised their eyes to see Leon Vance leaning on the balustrade with a face like thunder. Taking advantage of the distraction, Ziva made her blades disappear in her vest's sleeve with a flick of her wrist.

"There are Admiral and Mrs. McGee, Sir," answered Gibbs. "They are here about Tim. Admiral and Mrs. Gee, let me present you Director Vance, head of NCIS."

"Oh? I don't remember having an appointment with you," said Vance, his voice betraying the contempt he felt toward the couple. "But since you are here uninvited, why won't we have a conversation in my office?"

Admiral McGee nodded feebly and he straightened his uniform in a feeble attempt to regain a bit of dignity; however, his wife wasn't going to throw in the towel so easily: she pointed at Ziva and shouted:

"Director Vance! I want you to arrest this woman!"

"Under what charge?"

"She threatened my husband with her knives!

Vance glanced at Ziva – who looked back to her immediate superior without fear, ready to face consequences but without regretting her action – and then he asked around:

"Can anybody confirm this?"

A chorus of _'No, Sir'_ answered back, making Mrs. McGee sputter with indignation.

"W-What? But… You have all seen what she has done! You, over there!" shouted the woman at Special Agent Baty, "Tell Director Vance what has just happened!"

Charles Baty – a tall, middle-aged man with receding hair – grunted in answer: "I'm a skiver, I've seen nothing."

This comment made Mrs. McGee blush a brilliant red, but nonetheless she kept on calling for witnesses: "Then, you! The man standing near the copy machine!"

"I work in a dump, I saw nothing," answered nonchalantly Agent Gerald Grant.

"And you?"

"I'm a pencil pusher, I haven't noticed a thing," answered Agent Carla Stewart.

"You, young man!"

"Are you abasing yourself low enough to talk to a worm? Besides, I was cleaning my glasses and I can't see without them," said Jimmy.

Things were definitively spiraling downwards, but Mrs. McGee tried one last attempt: "How about you?"

"I'm a war relic, and my eyesight isn't what it used to be," said Gibbs with a very insincere sigh.

"Anna! Stop making a scene and come along! Director Vance is waiting for us," barked Admiral McGee. Trust that stupid woman to act the goat at the worst time; Tim had inherited his brains from his mother, for sure!

Mrs. McGee lowered her head in shame and then she scurried after her husband, not daring to add another word. The crowd of NCIS agents watched as the troublesome couple climbed up the stairs and disappeared behind the door of Vance's office, before resuming their activities as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Gibbs glared at Ziva, who endured his scrutiny without fear, and then the ex-Marine took the young woman by the arm and escorted her to her desk;

"Good job, David," said Gibbs, loud enough for everyone to hear.

TBC…


	18. A revelation

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- To my dear readers and reviewers: I won't be able to post a new chapter on Saturday 15th, because of a dreaded term paper I have to write (*sigh*)… But I will be back on Saturday 22nd. In the meantime, enjoy! ;-)

- The Latin expression_ "Persona non grata"_ means "an unwelcome person" (from Wikipedia).

- To my Russian reviewer: thank you very much! I am glad you are enjoying this story so far.

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><p><strong>Chapter 18: A revelation<strong>

Vance looked at the man and woman seated across his desk with a severe frown on his face: good grief, what a tableau he had in front of him!

Admiral McGee was trying and failing miserably to regain his composure after his encounter with Agent David – Vance made a mental note to congratulate the ex-Mossad officer later – and Mrs. McGee looked dazed, as if the sky had fallen on her head. No doubts they had trained their children at an early age to never contradict Daddy for fear of painful consequences, since help from Mommy was not something to happen. This charming household had left nothing to the McGee kids but a painful choice between exile and submission, Tim choosing the former, Sarah the latter.

Leon Vance and his wife Jackie had always believed dialogue and support were the keys of a successful couple: their bright, happy and well-behaved children Jared and Kayla were the living proofs of this philosophy. Leon and Jackie had always praised their kids, encouraged their efforts and corrected mistakes without resorting to insults or corporal punishment; as a result, Jared was a history buff and a tennis-addict (he was aiming for the Wimbledon trophy in a few years) while Kayla was a piano virtuoso and ambitioned to be the first astronaut to land on Mars (_"Because the Moon is outdated, Daddy"_).

Vance considered children as a gift from God and he couldn't stand unfit parents; however, the kind that ticked him off to the max were the neglectful ones, too caught with their mundane lives they wouldn't notice if one of their kids would crawl into the house with a broken leg. This was already unforgivable, but if there was a _Tour de France_ for negligent parents then Robert and Anna McGee would win the yellow jersey anytime. Vance had taken a shine to their son right after his nomination as Director of NCIS: the young man's quiet demeanor made a sharp contrast with the trademark rudeness of Team Gibbs, but what was more amazing was his intelligence. Hence, Vance had kept Tim in DC to make discreet inquiries about him, while DiNozzo and David had been sent away after the team had been disassembled.

But some information had made Vance's eyes pop out of their sockets: Tim had been relentlessly bullied at school for having skipped two grades – an unforgivable crime according to glue-for-brains bullies - and yet, his parents had never bothered to file a complaint; at sixteen years of age, he had wrecked his Camaro and both Admiral and Mrs. McGee had been "too busy" to visit him at the hospital; idem with the graduation ceremonies at MIT and John Hopkins, since awesome studies couldn't compensate for the fact that seasick-prone Tim would never join the Navy. But what had brought things to a head had been Tim's determination to become a Federal Agent: furious, the Admiral had ostracized his son – stating Tim was wasting his education for "a bunch of pencil pushers" - and Mrs. McGee had followed the movement, of course. Only Sarah had maintained contact with the exiled, but Vance suspected she did it more for practical reasons than for sibling affection: her brother was an investigator and it could prove to come in on handy, especially during the time she had been accused of murder.

The reading of Tim's file, plus the daily hazing the young man endured from DiNozzo, had made the Director grind his teeth more than once. In fact, he had made it clear to Gibbs that the Agency needed model agents like McGee and not DiNozzo-clones, a subtle way to tell the Team Leader to rein in his Senior Agent. But Gibbs did absolutely nothing to rectify the situation and, as a result, both he and DiNozzo were scheduled to face a review board. Vance had no scruples in doing so: he had plans for Tim and he would be damned to Hell before letting anyone stand on his way... including the McGee parents.

"I don't like visitors coming to **my **Agency unannounced, Admiral and Mrs. McGee," said the Director without preamble. "In fact, this kind of action usually ends up with intruders in handcuffs and escorted by security. Admiral, I suppose you pulled rank to pass through security but let me warn you right now your little stunt won't work a second time."

Robert McGee huffed in disdain: "I can't be blamed for the laxity of your security system, Director. In fact, my presence here confirms this so-called Federal Agency is just a dog and pony show with delusions of grandeur. No wonder my son works here..."

"You stop that right now, or I'll have you in lockup before you could even state your name!" growled Vance, his face set in granite.

"Do you know who you are talking to?" asked the Admiral with a supposedly dangerous tone.

"**To an imbecile!"** thundered Vance.

The Admiral recoiled on his seat as if he was facing a striking cobra instead of a federal agency's director; Mrs. McGee whimpered but neither man paid any attention to her: the Admiral because ignoring his wife was second nature to him and Vance because he felt nothing but contempt towards the woman. She looked like the offspring of a parrot and a mop; Jackie would have given her a piece of her mind, had she been here!

"You listen up, Admiral McGee, and you listen well: your son is one of the brightest agents here at NCIS. He has worked for this agency for more than seven years and, not only his record is spotless, but he has done a fantastic job in solving cases – and no, NCIS isn't only focused in looking for missing persons or retrieving drunks in the streets. As you are quite aware of, our agency deals with security, counter-intelligence, counter-terrorism, and law enforcement under the direct supervision of the Navy so you can stop disparaging my men out of spite for your son's so-called disobedience. Tim is a smart, loyal, devoted agent who has been working on murder cases, some of them so gruesome it would have made the most hardened war veterans to puke their guts out. And you know what? He never faltered, no matter how difficult his job can become; he endured any kind of hardships to see the perpetrators being brought to justice; he never stopped learning new techniques to improve his already sharp skills; and on top of everything he remained true to himself, a conscientious professional with a polite attitude. I can honestly say your son is amongst the cream of my agents. And you have the nerve to call him worthless?"

"But…"

"I have a filing cabinet full of cases solved under the supervision of Special Agent Gibbs, and your son has been an asset to his team since day one. He's not only an exceptional computer consultant, but he has gained a high level of expertise on crime scene investigations – not to forget a lot of experience on the field. And yes, this kind of thing involves gunfights, explosions, pursuits, hand-to-hand combats and all the rest of it; I cannot tell you more because otherwise, I would be forced to kill you afterwards…"

"Oh my God!" whispered Anna McGee.

"But I am not a man known to take reckless decisions: I have chosen your son for this mission abroad simply because he's the best at what he does, and his brains are needed in Afghanistan. Oh, and Admiral? About this 'coward' label you've slapped on his forehead? Tim has accepted this mission without a single second of hesitation. He has a strong commitment towards his country and I am certain he will do his duty like the true soldier he is."

"You don't…"

"I don't know your son? Oh, but I do! Unlike you, I am not oblivious to his intelligence but what's the most amazing about him is that he never shows off. He doesn't despise people less smart than him – God knows, they are many; instead, he always tries to help them. Not that he has always been rewarded for his generosity, though: ungratefulness has been his lot more than once. But he doesn't use this as pretext to turn into an embittered, pretentious man; no, Tim has too much backbone to be bothered by cockroaches. Having faith in his fellow man doesn't make him a fool, but a good person – then again, this is a notion that is completely alien to you, isn't it?"

Robert McGee's lips were pressed against one another as if his mouth was full of lemon juice and he couldn't spit it out. His spouse, however, started crying in the earnest, giving him a much-needed diversion.

"Will you stop crying, Anna? This is unworthy of an Admiral's wife!"

"B-But Robert, you've h-heard Direc-tor Vance," said the woman between two sobs. "Tim is in Af-ghanistan and he won't c-come back…"

"Of course, he will come back! Just because Vance is making his little eulogy in front of us is not going to stop me from retrieving our stupid boy from this foolish trip abroad. You think you're so clever, eh, Vance? Well, let me tell you that as soon as I'll step out of this dump I will make a few phone calls to a few friends I happen to have at the Pentagon and not only Tim will be sent by to the USA with his tail between his legs, but I will also make sure you will be sacked out of NCIS, _Director_."

"Please do," said Vance, smiling one of his rare smiles. "You'll find soon enough that Tim is involved in a mission where troublemakers are _personae non gratae_, including US Navy Admirals. Your son is currently under the command of high-ranking military men who are under the supervision of bureaucrats in the highest echelons, and any attempt to sabotage this particular mission will be considered as treason and treated accordingly. You're not the only one with friends at the Pentagon, Admiral."

"B-B-But, Director V-Vance, you don't under-stand… Tim is our b-baby, he cannot b-be in a war zone… He'll get k-killed! I can see you h-have c-children of your own, too," said Mrs. McGee while gesturing towards the framed photos of Jared and Kayla on the desk. "As a father, y-you can imagine our pain of h-having lost our boy… Can you imag-gine your son in Afghanistan, lost and alone in a war? Tim must be b-b-brought back to DC… Please, Director, bring us back o-our son…"

Vance repressed the urge to roll his eyes. The woman was using emotional blackmail: how original! She sounded just like Sciuto.

"For your information, Jared is twelve years old and the chances of seeing him drafted and sent abroad are, at this moment, absolutely nil. Your son, however, is a grown-up man who is perfectly able to make his own decisions. He agreed to go to Afghanistan and you have to respect his choice, even though this is something neither of you have done it in the past (_"Mind you, you're not the only ones"_, added the Director inwardly). Besides, Mrs. McGee, I'm having trouble believing you: you haven't spoken to your son for years, out of abject obedience towards your husband, and then all of a sudden you're concerned about Tim's well-being? Go and tell it to the Marines!"

"OH!" exclaimed Anna McGee, her tears stopping as if someone had turned off a faucet.

"Anna, I'm telling you for the last time, shut up!" roared her husband. Things were going south way too quickly for his tastes and he needed his wife to do a scene like he needed a battleship to sink in his garden.

Director Vance had proven to be a tough nut to crack and Admiral McGee wasn't used to resistance; during his career, he had made entire crews to obey him slavishly and the very few ones who had contested his authority had been punished accordingly for their foolishness. Same thing happened at home: he was the master of the house and nobody had the right to challenge him. It had been easy to train Anna in this way of thinking: she had shut down her brains right after their wedding ceremony, leaving all the decisions to her husband. Sarah had opted for silence and it had suited the Admiral perfectly.

Only Tim had dared to defy his father – not physically, since the kid couldn't fight – but by being so infuriatingly _brilliant_: math wiz, talented author, science scholar, everything the elder McGee wasn't and it had raised a tidal wave of jealousy deep down Robert's heart. It wasn't the first time it had happened, though: the Admiral had resented his mother Penny's intelligence as well since he hadn't inherited from it, and he considered as a personal affront that Nature had skipped his generation to grant all this brainpower to his son. And the boy had proven to be resilient: no amount of undeserved reprimands had succeeded in discouraging Tim from developing his mind.

This quiet resistance had infuriated his father to the max, ending with a long estrangement that would have lasted for years if it hadn't been for Tim leaving for Afghanistan. Shocked by their son's farewell letter, Admiral McGee had driven like a maniac to the NCIS building with the intention to raise an enormous scandal: the very idea of Tim going to a war zone was so outrageous that it could only be due to a major goof, a computer glitch or the decision of a madman! However, Vance's unyielding attitude and firm statement about Tim had bowled over the elder McGee; other people in the past had tried to convince him about his son's abilities – interfering teachers, bothersome Penny, goody-two-shoes scout leaders – but he had always ignored their opinions. Then again, dismissing teachers and relatives was easy; dismissing the Director of a federal agency was another matter, and it was quite a revelation!

Vance was looking at the couple with unblinking eyes: Anna McGee had sunk back into her chair, muffling her sobs in a handkerchief but the Admiral's indignation seemed to deflate slowly, like a spoiled _soufflé_. Vance, who was good at reading physiognomies, could see Robert McGee was starting – very reluctantly, but he didn't have a choice – to see the light. The same phenomenon had happened to Gibbs, after the Director had picked him up at Base Andrews' brig; it had taken a lot of punches on the face for the Team Leader to admit he had been wrong, though!

"Now, Admiral and Mrs. McGee, I suggest you to go home quietly as I won't tolerate any more of your outbursts within my agency. Maybe you could use his absence to do some soul-searching about your past attitude towards your son. I have recently told someone that some people don't realize they've been granted a blessing until it's too late, and I'd hate to think you actually belong to this category of idiotic persons. So, for your sake and Tim's, keep an absolute silence about his presence in Afghanistan since he is working on a special project which our enemies would pay a king's ransom to know about."

"Director Vance, maybe you're right about Tim but for the moment, it doesn't matter. I want you to tell me at once where our son is," said the elder McGee.

"That's classified information, Admiral."

"But…"

"Do not insist, Admiral."

"W-Well, never mind!" stuttered Mrs. McGee, forgetting about her husband's previous order. "You will find T-Tim's whereabouts from your friends at the P-Pentagon, won't you, Robert?"

Admiral McGee looked away: for all his ranting and raving, he didn't have any friends at the Pentagon – only a handful of acquaintances who wouldn't move a finger to help him as he didn't have the best reputation – too arrogant, according to his fellow naval officers. Besides, Vance had made it clear Tim was involved in a secret mission; for all his pretentiousness, Admiral McGee knew that indiscretions were paid a heavy price by soldiers, but also by the imprudent bigmouths. More than one officer had lost his stripes for having talked too much, letting vital information to fall into enemies' ears, and he wasn't keen on adding his name to the list.

"Let's go, Anna," said Robert McGee, rising from his seat.

"But…"

"**Now**, Anna! Director Vance, we will have another conversation in a close future."

"I doubt it, Admiral. I have nothing else to say to you. Pamela?" said Vance as he pushed on the intercom's button. "Please ask a member of the security staff to escort Admiral and Mrs. McGee outside."

"Very well, Sir," answered Pamela's voice on the speaker.

"That's not necessary, Director."

"It's for your own protection, Admiral. I don't want you to be in trouble with another one of my agents… Some of them are susceptible and they don't take insults too lightly, as you know."

Robert McGee's face turned as red as a beetroot, but he had the good sense to ignore the sarcasm. Anna blew her nose loudly and started to say something before a furious glance from her husband made her change her mind in a snap. Vance opened the door just as a security guard was coming – apparently, Pamela had foreseen her boss' demand and he would thank her for the initiative – and let his unwelcomed visitors out of his office.

"Have a good day, Admiral and Mrs. McGee," said Vance as a farewell.

"We will meet again, Director, you can count on it!"

"Well, certainly not in this building. Anderson, please make sure these two persons will never enter NCIS again."

"Yes, Sir," answered the security guard. He started to move towards the couple but the Admiral's arrogance raised its ugly head once again:

"Don't you dare touch me, you lackey!"

Anderson (a guy with enough muscles to tore phone books in half) answered with a smile as thin and cold as Ziva's blades, making Mrs. McGee to shiver in terror. She all but ran away from the scene, forcing her husband to follow suit while inwardly cursing the day he had married the most stupid woman in the world – but then again, an intelligent spouse would have reminded him too much of Penny.

They ran down the stairs and crossed the bullpen without a backward glance, with Anderson hot at their heels. Muffled laughter was heard at the desks as amused agents observed the hated couple fleeing NCIS in great haste, and some money was exchanged following a few bets about how long Admiral McGee and his cheerleader would last in front of the Wrath of Vance.

"Did you see that, Tony?" asked Ziva. "Vance has roasted the enemy!"

"He has _"routed"_ the enemy, Ziver," corrected Gibbs with a half-smile.

"Yeah, you should work on your English; no one's going to believe you're an American citizen if you keep on botching expressions like you do," grumbled a morose Tony. The flight of the Admiral didn't suit his purposes, since he had been hoping McGee Senior would somehow convince Vance of Tim's shortcomings or, at the worst, to make such a racket the Director would have no other choices than to call Probie back. But Tony's hopes had been thoroughly crushed at the sight of the Admiral's dismayed face.

"Keep your smart remarks to yourself, Tony!" shot the ex-Mossad back. "It isn't my fault if I have problems with idiots."

"I think you mean _"idioms"_, Ziva," said Gibbs.

"Actually, I meant for both!"

TBC…


	19. An introduction

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- Hi, I'm back again! The dreaded term paper is finally over… now I can only bite at my fingernails and fearing for the results.

- Details about military life come from Wikipedia and I apologize for any inaccuracies.

- The Aimee Wilkins character is not a Mary-Sue!

- To ClioUrania: thank you very much for your review. It takes a long time for members of Team Gibbs to acknowledge their wrongs, isn't it?

- To McGee leader: well, maybe Tim will be granted his own team… who knows? ;-)

- To Animelvr: I am glad you are enjoying this story!

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><p><strong>Chapter 19: An introduction<strong>

_Four days later…_

Tim laid down his pen on his desk with a sigh: he had been working on The Watcher for five hours straight and he was getting tired. His shoulders were stiff, his eyes were burning from having stared at his laptop screen for too long and his stomach was ordering him with loud grumbles to stuff him with edibles or else the consequences would be severe!

Life at ISAF was anything but a vacation resort; wake-up at 4:00 a.m. sharp, and then it was running to the yard for a two-hour exercise session and everyone had to attend it; afterwards it was hit-the-showers, breakfast and then work until noon, midday meal, work while the soldiers were doing chores, evening meal, free time for those who weren't on duty and curfew at 9:30 p.m. The cadence was intensive and the men and women had to stay concentrated on their tasks; the word was to always remain on the alert, since attacks were possible anytime in spite of the high security surrounding the base. There were a few possibilities for entertainment at the base like movies, video-games and the computers' room where soldiers could send e-mails to their families, but Tim hadn't used these facilities yet. Taking on his identity as a Lieutenant, he scrupulously followed the base's schedule and he had employed every available minute of his time on The Watcher, stopping just to eat and sleep. His concentration of the special project had made him ignore his Spartan private quarters, the awkwardness of the shared showers or the quality of the food. He wanted to present a full report at General Stephenson on Friday just before his appointment with Vance via videoconference, to announce them the good news: The Watcher was almost ready and test runs on vehicles would start pretty soon.

True to his word, Roberts had shown Tim around ISAF, presenting him as _"Lieutenant McGee, Finance Corps"_ to every senior and junior officer they had met on the way; and, as expected, Tim had been greeted politely but coldly, as if his presence was considered by the rest of the staff as "another useless pencil-pusher from DC", which was fine for him. He had been assigned a desk (a rickety table with a folded piece of paper steadying one leg) located in a remote corner of the Logistics Support room (he could see anyone approaching him), without a phone (so he wasn't interrupted in his work) and his chair was a veteran of WWII. Tim had brought his own pens and a calculator to avoid wasting time searching for stationery; he had previously covered sheets of paper with fake accounting tables, which he left on his table and even shredded a few of them at the end of the day to look more credible. So far, no one had talked to him apart from Stephenson and Roberts, and Tim had every intention to remain in the background; he had had his share of attention with Sergeant Miller and he wasn't keen on renewing this experience, which had reminded him too much of DiNozzo's loud bullying all over the bullpen.

Thinking about the Senior Agent immediately led Tim to think about Ziva: he had arrived in Afghanistan four days ago and he hadn't been able to send her a message! She must be anxious about him – like Ducky and Jimmy – and Tim would have loved to spare a few minutes to write to his friends. Also, he wanted to know how Jet was faring at Andy's house and if the dog wasn't taking his absence too hard. But he wasn't supposed to write home when working on a secret project and he had removed his laptop's Internet link. He could use one of the shared computers but sending messages to NCIS e-mail addresses could raise embarrassing questions for a Lieutenant supposedly from the Finance Corps. Tim had accepted this special mission his eyes wide open, and he wasn't going to disappoint General Stephenson and Director Vance because he couldn't handle the pressure.

His stomach's grumbles getting way too loud to be ignored, Tim shut down his laptop, unplugged it and left the Logistics Support room without a word or a nod to anyone. He walked down the corridors to reach his private quarters, and placed the laptop inside the locker before slamming the door shut and securing it with the word lock. No way in Hell would he leave The Watcher unattended on his desk and so far, nobody had noticed him taking his laptop with him every time he went eating or to the bathroom. It was as if Tim had become the Invisible Man, like Vance had said to Gibbs at Base Andrews, but the young man didn't mind: being overlooked was second nature to him and for once, it suited his purposes perfectly!

The Watcher secured, Tim locked the door of his private quarters and walked in the direction of the base's chow hall; it was crowded and noisy as expected, with servicemen and women talking loudly about the quality of the food while attendants kept on serving without paying attention to criticism or protests. Tim waited his turn, got his compartment tray filled up and chose an isolated table at the Officers' Club to eat his lunch in peace. Some of the top brass glanced at him as he passed by, but shrugged his presence off and returned their attention to the food.

After a few minutes, Tim spotted a movement from the corner of his emerald-colored irises: somebody was approaching his table and he raised his head, expecting to see General Stephenson or his _aide de camp_. But his eyes widened slightly at the sight of the person walking towards him: it was a woman with a nice face and of average height; her uniform couldn't hide her slim and strong silhouette. Her blond hair was cut short but curled slightly around the ears, enhancing her femininity and she had an air of natural pleasantness, like she didn't have a care or a worry in the world.

Tim noticed the Captain's stripes sewn on her left sleeve, below an insignia formed by a white shield with two maroon flanks, bearing a four-pointed gold star superimposed on a maroon one. The young man didn't recognize this insignia but the stripes made him remember that this woman was his superior and he had better respect the protocol. She smiled down at him, revealing a row of pearly-white teeth, and said:

"Hello, Lieutenant. May I sit at your table?"

Tim jumped on his feet and saluted in the clumsiest manner: "Er, Captain... I m-mean, yes Captain! With p-pleasure!"

"Thank you, Lieutenant," said the officer, casually sitting in front of him. Tim inwardly cursed his stuttering tongue: of all the times to stumble on his words, it had to be when a fine-looking woman wanted to have lunch with him. Tony's sides would have ached from laughter had he had witnessed the situation! But the Captain didn't seem to pay any heed to Tim's embarrassment as she asked:

"Are you new at the base? I don't recall seeing you here."

"That's right. I'm Lieutenant Timothy McGee of the Financial Corps and I've arrived only a few days ago."

"Well, that explains a lot. I am Captain Aimee Wilkins, General Surgeon, 44th Medical Brigade."

_A doctor!_ Tim felt his pulse accelerating. Aimee Wilkins was beautiful and educated, exactly the kind of woman he was attracted to and she seemed interested by him. However, three thoughts prevented him from thanking his lucky stars: A) He was on a secret mission B) Ziva's tender farewells were still fresh in his mind and C) He had a long history of failed relationships with women taking advantage of him before dumping him and laughing cruelly at his feelings.

These reminders felt like receiving a bucket of cold water right in the face; Tim squared his shoulders and decided to remain polite, but to not let his heart trouble his judgment. For all he knew, Captain Wilkins could try to pry information about The Watcher or – even worse – turn out to be another Abby.

"It ex-explains what?" asked Tim, for once in his life exaggerating his stuttering. Better to look like a shy, harmless accountant than an undercover NCIS agent.

"Why I haven't seen you before; every man and woman on this base has went to sick bay at least once and I never forget a face – not that I am looking forward to see you ill, of course!" concluded Aimee with a laugh – a cute laugh.

"I-I see what you mean."

"Mind you, with the quality of the food here, it may happen sooner than you think," said the Captain with a disapproving frown on her face at the sight of the mashed potatoes on her tray. "I'd like to give you a word of advice, Lieutenant: you may experience difficulties adapting to foreign food and water; if your digestion is troubled, please go to sick bay immediately to be examined. I've seen too many soldiers neglecting their troubles or, more stupidly, think it 'virile' to ignore them completely before it's too late: I have treated dysentery more than once whereas it could have been easily avoided, had those soldiers have received antibiotics."

"I'll keep y-your advice in mind, Captain," said McGee while thinking that ironically enough, low-quality food and dead bodies had never upset his digestion; only floating ships had ever succeeded to do so.

"You seem reasonable, which is a nice change from all the tough guys stationed here. A soldier's best weapon is his good health and I'll never tire to repeat it. Tell me, why are you at ISAF?" asked Aimee with a twinkle of curiosity sparkling in her clear blue eyes.

"I-I am an accountant and I've have been assigned to the supervision of contracts with builders in cooperation w-with l-local a-authorities," answered Tim, clinging to the cover story concocted by General Stephenson. "The idea is to have s-schools and hospitals rebuilt as soon as possible for the civilian population."

"Well, I can only second this idea; this war has taken a terrible toll on the Afghanis and too many of them are dying from lack of treatment – and don't get me started about the complete absence of medical help out there in the desert! And schools are indispensable for giving a future to those poor children who had known armed conflicts since the day of their birth. You will give Afghanistan a future, Lieutenant McGee."

"W-Well, I am willing to do my best," said Tim between two mouthfuls.

"I'm sure you will. I have always thought that caring can improve our relations with the Afghan population a thousand times better than a show of force!"

Tim couldn't help but feel delighted by the woman's words, even though at the same time he didn't feel comfortable about lying to her face. Gibbs had told him years ago that undercover work felt like playing a role on stage while developing paranoia, all this to stay alive in front of a very hostile audience – and often, it would leave the performer in a very confused state during and after the mission.

Tim didn't have much experience with undercover work, since 90% of the time he was relegated to computer work while Tony and Ziva were out in the field; so far, he had assumed his identity of Lieutenant McGee easily since nobody had spoken to him apart from Stephenson and Roberts. But Captain Wilkins had unintentionally complicated the matter by showing interest towards him and Tim knew he would have to be twice as attentive to keep The Watcher's project on line – then again, Aimee was nice so he could hardly be crossed at her.

A sigh escaped his lips as he thought he would have appreciated some advice from Gibbs before he had left the USA, but the Boss-man hadn't thought him important enough… Gibbs had probably been too busy consoling Abby to grant him a moment of his time –besides, he would have stated the whole mess of Abby's suspension was Tim's fault, as usual, and he would probably heaped insults on the young man until he had reached the conclusion that he was a worthless agent and a disgrace to NCIS.

Aimee's voice suddenly cut his train of thoughts:

"What's the matter?"

"Er… Nothing."

"You looked so sad for a minute! Are you homesick?"

McGee looked at the woman's face and could only see genuine concern about him, something he had very seldom experienced in his life –maybe apart from Ziva.

"Well, er, yes," whispered McGee. He could hardly tell his departure to Afghanistan had created an enormous turmoil and an exchange of heated arguments with his colleagues. As for his relatives, they were probably fuming in rage because he had done a runner (regardless of the letters he had left for them) and he would probably pay for this audacity the rest of his life.

Aimee brushed her fingers against his hand:

"Don't worry, it will pass with time. It is common to feel like this on your first days: just don't let yourself being overwhelmed. If you have trouble sleeping, the best medication is to talk withyour comrades-in-arms."

Tim's heart made a strange flip-flop inside his chest after the Captain had touched his hand, but by miracle he managed to hide his confusion by nodding his head. Good grief, what was happening to him? He barely knew this woman and yet, he was troubled like a teenager meeting a "special girl" for the first time! Aimee was nice, sure enough, but he wasn't a rookie in the love department – in spite of Tony's cruel slandering – and he had learnt not to let himself being manipulated by a pair of beautiful eyes – thanks to Abby's harsh lessons. He really ought to get a grip and remain polite, but reserved: Aimee didn't have to be involved with his project and no-fraternization rules existed for a reason.

At the same moment, the young woman exclaimed: "Oh, darn it!"

"What's the matter?" asked Tim, immediately alarmed.

"That awful Sergeant Miller, he's looking in our direction!"

McGee turned about on his seat; indeed, the belligerent Sergeant was staring at them with an expression of pure hate on his face. Miller was holding a recently-filled tray and he was obviously looking for a place to sit, even though the soldiers and officers were doing their best to avoid his gaze, so they wouldn't have to share chow time with the base's most hated man. Tim thought for the briefest instant that the man would try to sit at their table just for spite, but he quickly dismissed the idea as he watched the short, dark-haired and muscular man grin at them in the most malevolent way just before turning heels and disappearing from their sight.

"Whew! He has gone to eat in the kitchens with his buddy Jackson. Good riddance!" exclaimed Aimee.

"Are you having a hard time with Miller?" asked a frowning Tim, forgetting his stuttering in this sudden change of situation.

"Who hasn't? This guy could win the Oscar of the Most Cantankerous Man every year! He tyrannizes the soldiers day and night but tries to play nice with senior officers like the bootlicking bastard he is; but since the brass don't give a damn about him, he denigrates them in the most vicious, disgusting way – telling lies about their wives, sex lives, their aptitudes to command, everything! But Miller has the Devil's own luck and no-one can denounce him: the grunts are too scared of him and so far, the officers hadn't been able to prove anything. The very few who had dared confronting Miller had received the brunt force of his denial right in the face; the Sergeant played the martyr, stating that the complaining officers were in league against him, and blah blah blah. All in one, the officers were transferred out of this base and Miller remained Staff Sergeant, but everybody avoids him like the plague – apart from his friends, like Jackson the cook. Thankfully, General Stephenson keeps him on a tight leash and I know he will kick him out of Afghanistan at the next misstep. Gosh, I hate it when Miller shows up at the hospital, faking an injury!"

"He's a skiver, on top of everything?"

"Actually, he wants to see me," said Aimee with a slight blush on her cheekbones. "Miller holds every man in contempt but he _likes_ women – if you can call that liking. Women in the army are only trophies to him and woe to the servicewoman who dares to brush him off: he makes her life a living Hell! He tried to lure me to his bed with a stream of viscous platitudes and I turned him down by reminding him I know how to use sharp scalpels."

"But that's sexual harassment! And you're a Captain; he could be court-martialed for this."

"But what proofs did I have? It would have been his word against mine, and we are in a war zone with much more pressing matters at hand. Miller is amused by my resistance; he is persuaded that sooner or later I will give in. According to him, every woman is the same regardless of rank– and none of us can resist bedding such a "super male" like him. So every now and then, Miller shows his face at the hospital, claiming to suffer from tendinitis or another scratch of the same kind, and I have to endure his presence while he makes subtle allusions about the great things a man and a woman can do in bed – of course, he never mentions us by name, in case if I tried to record our conversation!"

Tim felt the Dark Dove lightly poking him in the ribs, as if the weapon wanted to taste the blood of the Sergeant.

"He's more repellent than I thought him to be."

"You've dealt with him before?"

McGee thought fast; for discretion's sakes he couldn't tell Aimee about the Miller incident that had happened right after he had stepped out of the plane, followed by General Stephenson's intervention. His main goal was to keep a low profile and telling too much about his experience with the Sergeant could only lead to questions he didn't wish to answer.

"Er… N-No. But I heard him yelling at a s-soldier and it was downright awful," lied Tim through his teeth. He hoped Aimee hadn't noticed his stuttering had disappeared after she had mentioned Miller.

"No? That's strange; he looked daggers at you as if you were his worst enemy… Oh dear, it's probably because of me! He must think you are encroaching on his territory," exclaimed Aimee, her beautiful face turning pale.

"But I'm not…! I m-mean, we're not… Er… What I'm trying to say is… You're a superior officer and I know my place. It would never c-cross my mind to disrespect you or to break the non-fraternization r-rules," said Tim even if a small, rebellious-to-reason part of his being was wishing otherwise.

Captain Wilkins let out a sigh, as if she was also regretting something, and said: "I respect the rules as well, Lieutenant. But Miller has a suspicious mind and a poisonous tongue, making him twice more dangerous. I don't fear for myself: my reputation is well-established here at ISAF as both officer and surgeon. But you're the new guy; nobody knows a thing about you and it lays you open to criticism or, worse, slander. I guess this is why I've told all these things about Miller, to forewarn you about what he can do. If Miller bears a grudge against you, he won't hesitate to whisper in hostile ears that you're an homosexual, or an impotent, or even a pencil-pusher unable to defend himself, marking you the perfect target for bullying… or worse."

A _déjà-vu_ feeling swept over McGee: he already had this share of attacks after DiNozzo had told every lady in NCIS that the computer tech of Team Gibbs was gay – _"Just a joke_", according to Tony, but the truth was he had been worried Tim would be more successful than him in the dating competition. McGee had escaped three gay-bashings in the Yard, the last one only because vigilant MPs had arrested the perpetrators just in the nick of time. Needless to say, the gay-bashers hadn't been pleased learning afterwards that their planned attack had been based on a calumny; as a result, they had earned a record and a stay in jail, utterly compromising their chances for a bright future. Tim had told the whole story to the late Jenny Sheppard and she had ordered him to not say a word about this to Gibbs and Tony. Obviously, keeping Team Gibbs at the top of NCIS' crime-solving record was more important than Tony facing the consequences of his stupid joke. Tim, a probationer at the time, had no other choice than to obey – later, he learned the hard way that his safety wasn't at the top of anyone's list within the Federal Agency.

"I-I thank you for your advice, Captain. Rest assured that I will be vigilant."

"And please, stay on the alert anytime, even in your office. In which unit do you work?"

"Logistics Support," answered Tim.

Captain Wilkins made a small grimace: "Miller is Supply Sergeant, meaning he is bound to go to Logistics Support under any kind of pretext to spy on you, or to poke his nose around about the contracts you are working on. He's so petty he won't hesitate to sabotage our chances of collaboration with the local population just to get his revenge! Please be careful, Lieutenant: I'd hate to learn your project has been sabotaged and I really don't want to see you in the hospital as a patient."

Captain Wilkins had finished her mess tray; she got on her feet, picked up the metallic platform and smiled again at Tim:

"I wish you the best, Lieutenant. Don't let fools like Miller get in your way. Just keep focused on your goal and you will succeed."

Tim got on his feet and saluted the young woman in a more assured way this time: "Thank you, Captain. Good luck with your goals, too."

"Thank you, Lieutenant."

McGee watched Aimee as she walked away (she was moving with a firm step, giving her an imposing bearing) and then he realized that the senior officers seated nearby his table were observing him as well. He sank back to his seat and returned his attention towards his food, trying hard to ignore the smiles and the chuckles. Tim brushed his hand on his side to feel the Dark Dove under his olive T-shirt; the young man inwardly thanked Ziva for her present: not only it helped him in staying focused in front of attractive doctors, but it could also be of great help if Miller would try anything against him.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn't notice Corporal Roberts looking at him from across the chow hall.

TBC…


	20. A presentation

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- I am not an engineer: details about The Watcher are entirely made up ;-)

- To my Russian reviewer: thank you very much!

- To ClioUrania: you are right, Tony isn't a malevolent person. He's just sticking to his frat boy personae like glue, in spite of years flying by and his work at NCIS. He could be a very good person if he would simply stop his "look-at-me" attitude!

- To Sal: thank you for your compliment, I'm blushing!

- To Earthdragon: disposing of Miller in the desert? Mmm, that's something to think about.

- To Mary: I hope you will like this new chapter, as well.

- To Guest: here's the new chapter, enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 19: A presentation<strong>

_The next day..._

"Step One is completed and The Watcher is operational, Sir. The program reacted perfectly to all the simulation tests done by computer. Step Two will consist in installing The Watcher inside a Hummer and launch test fields in the hardest conditions possible," said Tim at the end of his presentation to General Stephenson.

Stephenson couldn't detach his eyes from Tim's laptop screen, where The Watcher was displayed in all its technological grandeur: blueprint plans, 3-D images, animated simulation, pages of mathematical equations, everything had been done to make it easy to understand how this potential life-saving computer program would work, even to laymen. Stephenson was not a novice in technology but he couldn't pretend being able to decipher diagrams about electronic circuits or even conceive them. However, he knew enough to realize McGee had succeeded where the other army engineers have failed: for months, they have tried to build a bomb-detecting program using either thermographs, ultrasounds, radar or night vision scope, but the kid had managed to combine these four technologies into The Watcher, making it possible to detect any kind of explosive components (including gunpowder) hidden in machineries, buildings or buried underground, all this within a two-mile radius.

This was a stroke of genius; this invention could protect efficiently soldiers on patrol or at the base, since The Watcher would sound the alarm with enough time to neutralize terrorists carrying a bomb in the vicinity. Gosh, the US Army would be able to prevent attacks before they could even occur – two steps ahead of the enemy. Casualties could be reduced by two thirds! Zones under Allied Forces control would become inviolable! Enemies would tear each other apart suspecting a snitch, enfeebling them and thus giving more opportunities to chase them down; General Stephenson's mind reeled at the possibilities: this invention could become as sensational as satellite photography in warfare!

Glancing at the young man seated across his desk, the older man could see that the past days had been tiring for McGee, who had left the comfort of civilian life for the harsh military accommodations; the young man's face was drawn, there were shadows under his eyes and he seemed to have lost weight. Corporal Roberts, who had been watching all week long the 'special civilian' by order of Stephenson, had told him McGee had followed the base's routine thoroughly without a word of complain but the early morning exercises would take their toll on the young man's endurance sooner or later. Roberts had also reported that McGee had successfully assumed his fake identity as a discreet accountant working for Finance Corps: nobody had asked questions about McGee's presence at ISAF… Well, almost nobody.

"This is excellent work, McGee. Vance was right when he said you are a man dedicated to his job," said the General sincerely.

"Thank you, Sir," said Tim, desperately hoping he would not blush from the compliment. "But I can't take all the credit: the preliminary work done by the army engineers gave me thousands of ideas for the configuration – and I will be fully satisfied only after The Watcher will be perfectly operational aboard Hummers."

"_You're damn too modest, kid, but I'll teach you to be proud of yourself,"_ thought Stephenson, looking in amusement at the faint red coloring Tim's cheekbones. He glanced at the small plastic clock on his desk: it was almost 11:30 p.m. and it was time to call it a day.

"Step Two will begin on Monday morning," announced Stephenson. "I know you'd prefer to start the essays right away but it will take me a few days to find a Hummer in good shape and "borrow" it – as you can guess, all Hummers are needed for patrol duty and sparing one would be usually quite out of the question – so I will ask one of the mechanics to find a problem in one of the vehicles, so it will need to be repaired in one of the most remote garages. Don't worry, the mechanic will probably think it is a General's whim and he won't ask questions. What do you think the main problems will be to install The Watcher?"

"Fixing the casing on the vehicle's structure, isolating it from heat, sand and water, plugging it on the battery and making it resistant to shocks," answered Tim at once. "I have designed a casing that could be built using materials easily found on a military base, but here again field tests must be run; theoretically it can be done, but there is a huge gap between having an idea and bringing a project to completion."

"Take all the time you need, son. Don't rush things out of fear – I know you will succeed and I won't blow our special project out of impatience; I've never thought that stressing men give good results, quite the contrary. It can only lead to confusion, mistakes and wasted time, all the things I don't want to see around this base."

Tim thought about the differences between Stephenson's command and Gibbs': the silver-haired man pressured his subordinates to the maximum, paying no heed to their wounds or woes (unless you were named Abby, Tony or Ziva) and focused only on solving cases, come Hell or rising waters, acting like a mud-covered Marine in the middle of a battleground rather than a Team Leader inside a NCIS office. Stephenson, on the other hand, had an aura of dignified but efficient authority, the kind of man who is naturally obeyed because people knew they would be treated fairly and accordingly. It was a nice change for Tim, who had gotten well and truly told off for the littlest mistake ever since he had stepped foot inside NCIS and he somberly thought that Gibbs could take some leadership lessons from Stephenson.

"For the moment I am giving you the weekend off, son," said the General with a half-smile. "You have been running yourself to the ground since your arrival and you deserve a break. So take it easy, no morning exercises and sleep your heart's content to rest your hard-working brains, got it? Vance won't be happy with me if I tire out one of his best agents; speaking of whom, it's about 2:30 p.m. in DC and you have an appointment with your Director scheduled pretty soon."

"That's right, Sir," said Tim while closing up his laptop. He felt happy at the thought of speaking to Vance; even if the man was the most stern-faced person alive, it would give him a glimpse of home!

"Before I let you go with Roberts to the videoconference room, I wanted to ask you… Has anybody talked to you at ISAF?"

"Er… Yes, Sir, one person; I've met Captain Wilkins at the chow hall yesterday and she gave me good advice about how to remain healthy while in Afghanistan."

"Captain Wilkins? Good woman and an excellent medical doctor – and damn courageous too, she always volunteers to go out on the field regardless of the dreadful consequences on her person if the enemies ever capture her. She is genuinely concerned by the men's health and she is constantly worried about infections. Well, I can't blame her: they can wipe out entire armies with more efficiency than any biochemical weapons."

"That's correct, Sir," said Tim, remembering Penny telling him about his great-grandfather fighting in France during WWI and had almost succumbed to the Spanish flu pandemic in 1919. It had been a miracle, had said Penny, that your great-grandfather survived this terrible disease; otherwise I wouldn't be here to tell you this story, and your father wouldn't be here, and neither would you. Timmy had been very impressed by this family's legend and now, sitting in a General's office, his older self was getting more and more respectful towards the work of Captain Aimee Wilkins.

"Permission to ask a question, Sir?" asked Tim shyly.

"Granted."

"The Watcher is paramount to everything and I know I'm supposed to keep a low profile during my stay here at the base, but… In the hypothesis someone ever wants to form a friendship with me, would I be allowed to… _accept_ it?"

A spark of amusement shone in Stephenson's world-weary gaze. A friendship with someone… like the smart and cute Aimee Wilkins, for example? _Ah, youth!_ The General had a hard time to suppress a laugh; Roberts had already told him all about McGee's lunch with the surgeon and a few from the brass were already gossiping over coffee about the Captain's interest with an accountant-Lieutenant so discreet he seemed to hug the walls all the time. Stephenson had no objections about a friendship (or even a relationship) forming between McGee and Wilkins: the undercover NCIS agent was too smart to let out an indiscretion about The Watcher, and the doctor was a sensible woman with military experience who knew better than to pry. Besides, having a medical ally within ISAF could only be profitable for McGee. Stephenson was not naive enough to imagine non-fraternization rules could stop relationships to be formed in a place filled with men and women – it was part of human nature, especially under the extra stress of permanent danger. As long as it remained discreet, couples could do whatever they wanted when off-duty.

"You can accept it, son," said Stephenson, inwardly laughing at the look of relief on Tim's face. "I don't expect you to live like a recluse during your time here; moreover, people would be puzzled if you kept for yourself for six months, and they would start asking annoying questions! A little socialization during your off time is allowed – provided you keep an absolute silence about The Watcher under **any** circumstances."

"I will, Sir," said Tim earnestly. He may be intrigued by Aimee Wilkins but he was not fresh out of college anymore and his sense of duty far exceeded his sentimental life – something his former girlfriends had blamed him repetitively about cancelled dinners, nights out and weekends. Even though he had explained time and time again that he was on duty night and day, and Gibbs would rip his head off in case of lateness, his dates wouldn't hear any of it and it would end with a sharp _"Go to Hell, Tim"_ followed by a disconnected tone in the phone.

"Good, now go to your meeting with Vance. Corporal Roberts will use my code; for the computer, it'll be me talking to your Director so you won't have to explain why your accounting _alter ego_ has been contacting DC without any valid reasons. And don't worry about your allowed time for communication; we bigwigs can talk to a screen until Hell freezes over and no-one would be the wiser. Isn't it grand?" asked Stephenson with a light chuckle.

"It is, Sir," answered Tim with a genuine smile.

* * *

><p><em>Meanwhile, at DC…<em>

"Leon," said Gibbs while barging in the Director's office without bothering to knock, as usual.

"Yes, Gibbs?" asked the Director with an icy tone, not raising his eyes from the paperwork on his desk.

"Could you give me a way to contact McGee? _Anything_."

A loud sigh, followed by a rustling of paper, was the silent answer to the question. Vance should have known better: nothing, not even a secret mission, a fight at Base Andrews and a barely-avoided public disgrace, could discourage Gibbs from his obsession in contacting McGee in Afghanistan, whatever the costs would be for him or his teammates. Vance felt like banging his head against the walls of his office out of sheer frustration: of all the Team Leaders he could have under his command, he had to have Gibbs!

"_**No**_, Agent Gibbs, and I've already told you this a hundred times. My patience is running thinner than cigarette paper and if you know what's good for you, you won't try for the one hundred and one unless you want to experience early retirement!"

"Leon, please! I have no intention to yell at the kid! I just need to see him… To make sure he's okay abroad… For God's sakes, I've worked with the man for more than seven years; you can understand I am concerned for him!"

"As I recall, you had three days before McGee's departure to express your concern, so you should have thought about it instead of wasting time nursing Miss Sciuto's bruised ego and your oversized pride; besides, how do I know you won't heap insults on the kid at the very first occasion? He's involved in a very special project and keeping his spirits up is a capital point – he doesn't need reproaches about having left his job and his would-be friends at NCIS, how he is worrying everybody, how could he be so selfish to deprive his teammates from his computing experience, and so on and so forth!"

"I won't reproach him anything; I give you my word!"

"Your word won't be enough to put the brakes on your pride, Gibbs. I know you too well; you may be sincere in wanting to talk to the kid, but sooner or later you will mention his absence crippling your team and McGee will start to feel guilty – a character trait that had been used at his expense more than once, especially by Miss Sciuto. Well, not this time! Too many things are at stake in McGee's mission and I won't let you play on his feelings to make him lose his concentration."

"Leon, I just want to talk to him!"

"Well, maybe he doesn't want to talk with you! Ever thought of that?" thundered the Director. "Oh, what am I saying? Of course, you've never considered that option. You took McGee for granted and then you thought he'd be willing to listen to whatever stupidity would come out of your mouth; but this time you, Agent DiNozzo and Miss Sciuto went too far in the insulting business and you'll be damn lucky if the kid ever speaks to you again. For all he knows, you blame him for Miss Sciuto's suspension – even though he is totally innocent, but past experiences have taught him that he is the perfect scapegoat for your favorite's misbehaviors – and you think he is looking forward to have a conversation with you? You should drink some extra coffee to wake up at long last!"

"Leon…"

"Bottom line, Gibbs: the answer is no, and it will remain no. McGee is off-limits and if you ever fancy apologizing to him (which is highly unlikely to happen), you'll do it after his return from Afghanistan. Besides, you should be more concerned by more pressing matters: your team has been slacking in the paperwork and the archiving of cold cases."

"My team members are working as hard as they can!" protested Gibbs. "But with two people out, it makes it hard to keep the pace and…"

"And also, McGee's skills are sadly missed! He would have archived those files in a snap and that's when a computer tech comes in on handy, isn't it? Too bad McGee's work is appreciated only when he is absent. Everybody in the bullpen has been hearing DiNozzo's loud complains about being forced to do, and I quote, _"clerical work good only for McGeek and the likes"_. I dreamed against all odds that DiNozzo would realize the job done by technicians is an asset to our department, but your Senior Agent is hopelessly dumb!"

Taking a mental note to head-slap Tony once the meeting with Vance would be over, Gibbs took a deep breath to calm down his rage; he was feeling murderous for having being forbidden to speak to McGee but the situation was getting dangerous and it called for some urgent damage control.

"Leon, DiNozzo isn't completely wrong: our team needs a computer tech for the duration of McGee's absence. I hate to admit it but DiNozzo, David and I are not qualified enough for computer work, not only for compiling information but also to retrieve data when working on crime scenes. There is five weeks more to go before the end of Abby's suspension and her place is at her lab; she cannot work out in the field with us. I dislike the idea of having another person sitting at Tim's desk but it is a case of _force majeure_."

"I've been way ahead of you, Gibbs. See this?" said a severely-frowning Vance while pointing at a file filled with papers. "After McGee's departure, I've distributed those forms to all the computer techs down in Cyber-Crimes, asking if anyone would be interested in working on your team. Do you want to hear the results?"

Gibbs felt that he won't like the answer, but he nonetheless said: "Shoot."

"Very well," said the Director as he opened the file and took out the papers, reading one after another before placing them on the desk. "The computer techs brought back their forms with very colorful comments. The shortest one is: _"No way!"_ The most polite one is: _"With all due respect, Sir, I would rather hunt down pedophiles on the Net for a year than work with Gibbs."_ Here's a vehement one: _"Do you think I'm crazy?_" The family man version: _"I am the father of three children not old enough to make a living, so it is important for me to remain in good health and it won't happen if I work with Gibbs."_ This one's a feminist: _"I can't promise to not knock DiNozzo's teeth out!"_ A prudent variation: _"Do you think it is safe to work around David? She seems to have anger-management issues."_ The logical man: _"Since dogs are clearly more important than computer techs in Team Gibbs, you should ask a dog to fill in McGee's shoes."_ And, last but not the least, the clearest one: _"I hate playing-favorite team leaders, lousy jokers and Goth scarecrows!"_

The outraged silver-haired man's first impulse would have been to rip the desk from under Vance's hand and break the furniture in two on his knee: the comments from the Cyber-Crimes guys had not pleased him at all. His team was the best, for crying out loud, with an unsurpassed solving rate seven years in a row! His people had put terrorists behind bars, had avoided bomb attacks, caught smugglers on the act, had saved potential murder victims from a terrible fate, they have risked their own lives more times than he could count, and yet they were treated like pariahs inside NCIS! This was a blatant disrespect of all their hard work and Gibbs would not stand for it; he would go downstairs and give the computer geeks a piece of his mind, plus an earful about manners!

But Good Sense clucked inside Gibbs' brains that it was not the thing to do: yelling after the techs would not bring one to do McGee's work – far from it. In fact, it would only add more fuel to the fire as the Team's reputation was getting increasingly disastrous. And there was also the matter of the review board; Gibbs didn't fear it but he knew Tony, for all his bravado, was scared witless of this upcoming ordeal and creating a scandal at Cyber-Crimes won't help them in any way; they were already in deep trouble from Abby's latest outburst in the bullpen about Jet.

Gibbs let out a sigh that sounded like the bellowing of a charging buffalo, and then he said through gritted teeth:

"So, no one in Cyber-Crimes wants to work on my team."

"That's correct, Agent Gibbs; it is going to force me to ask other departments to lend us a computer tech but, considering the general lack of enthusiasm, it means you and your team will continue filing and compiling information for the time being. So maybe it would be wise to tell DiNozzo to tone down his complains, got it? Now if you don't mind, I'd like to finish reading my notes in peace before going to MTAC in a few minutes. You're dismissed."

Gibbs left the Director's office in a rush, too mad at the whole world to bother with the loud bang behind him. Vance rolled his eyes heavenwards and thought it had been an intelligent move to have fixed the framed pictures on the walls with screws: nails would have fallen off each and every time Gibbs would have slammed the door!

McGee's departure was indeed a hard blow for NCIS but Vance didn't regret having sent the kid abroad: his brains were desperately needed for General Stephenson's vast protection project and, considering the increasing number of casualties in Afghanistan, the Director could only hope the kid would solve the problems soon in spite of the difficulties inherent to war zones. Then again, McGee had never let anything or anyone stopping him to find clues about murder cases – not even Gibbs in his worst day. That was telling a lot about the computer tech's resilience and concentration, qualities which were indispensable in Afghanistan in order to survive the risk-factor and harsh living conditions.

Vance put down his notes and dialed the number of his secretary's desk:

"Pam? Please tell the MTAC crew that I will arrive in a minute. It is time for my weekly appointment with McGee."

TBC…


	21. An apparition

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- To None: I think Vance will relent in letting Ziva and Ducky talk to Tim ;-)

- To Mr. Danish and Guest: yes, this is a McGiva story, even though it won't look like it in some chapters involving Aimee Wilkins. Just keep on reading!

- To my Russian reviewer: Большое спасибо!

- To my Portuguese reviewer: I am so glad you like this story. I hope you'll enjoy this new chapter!

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><p><strong>Chapter 20: An apparition<strong>

Gibbs was in a volatile mood as he walked down the stairs leading to the bullpen. Unconsciously quoting his immediate superior, he thought that of all the mule-headed Directors in the world, he had to have Vance!

Locking horns with Leon was nothing new; they had done it many times in the past but it had never been about a member of Gibbs' Team. The silver-haired man had thought for sure that he had the complete, absolute and indisputable control over his subordinates and they would remain at his beck and call until he would be forced to retire by the HR department. But McGee's leaving had torn into shreds the fabric of Gibbs' confidence and he was at a loss of what to do, an unusual and unwelcome state of mind. What in the world could he do with an amputated team, a sulking Forensics expert, a wall-like Director and a unanimous refusal from the Cyber-Crimes guys to work for him? Announcing to Tony and Ziva they were doomed to archive cold cases for the next six months was not something he was looking forward to – inertia would most likely prompt the Senior Agent to do something stupider than usual, and Ziva's temper would shrink away to nothing.

Any other Team Leader would be pretty concerned about his imperiled position within NCIS, but this was the least of Gibbs' worries.

His heart skipped a beat as he looked sorrowfully at Tim's desk: too neat, too quiet... It was truly a poor souvenir of the busy workplace it had once been. Gibbs sadly missed his surrogate son and, even though he hated to admit it, he was learning a harsh lesson about appreciating quiet people instead of taking them for granted. He had made a terrible mistake thinking Tim would always be in his life, providing the team with priceless data but, most importantly, keeping their spirits up with his undefeated goodness. It had been short of a miracle that Tim had been able to keep this shining soul of his over the years, even though he would have thousands of reasons to become an embittered, spiteful man: indifferent relatives, school thugs, social awkwardness thanks to his IQ, manipulating girlfriends and, on top of everything, bullying co-workers and barking-mad boss.

Yes, Tim would have had lots of excuses and yet, he never used them to hold the whole world in contempt – showing more backbone in his discreet, persistent way than all the loudmouthed idiots Gibbs had encountered in the Marines and in civil life. No wonders General Whoever-the-Hell-his-name-was had managed to snatch Tim away from them; a secret mission needed brains, not brawls and McGee was the perfect man for this kind of job.

Gibbs let out a sigh and he made a beeline to the coffee machine, as he needed a refill before breaking the news to his team that they won't get a new computer tech anytime soon. A glance at a photo on Rebecca Donaghue's desk made him remember the frame he had just finished building for the new picture of Tim he had ordered at the Iconic Image Photo Centre a few days ago; it was due to arrive in the mail today and Gibbs was looking forward to receive it. He would not take the framed photo at work, otherwise he would not hear the end of Tony's comments but at least, he could have it in the safety of his basement, next to his worktable.

He filled up his mug and walked back to his desk in record time; he could not trust himself enough to not punch a few noses on the way – the scuttlebutt knew all about the trouble he and his team were in and sarcastic remarks were not unique to DiNozzo – but he could not be involved in a fight within the bullpen, as it would spell his professional doom. Better was to run the gauntlet during Tim's absence but, as soon as the kid would be back, Gibbs would give him such a warm welcome that it would put the other NCIS agents to shame.

However, the Team Leader's stoical resolution almost went to an abrupt end after Tony asked:

"So, Boss, are we getting a new geek soon?"

The Team Leader slammed his coffee cup hard on his desk – making Ziva to raise her eyes from her work – and answered with enough ice in his voice to fill up a cold storage room:

"No, DiNozzo, we are not getting a new _**computer tech**_ soon. Thanks to our past callous attitude towards McGee, the guys from Cyber-Crimes have unanimously refused to be transferred temporarily to our team. Then again, who can blame them?"

Gibbs sat down heavily on his office chair and started to type on his keyboard with a vengeance; Tony remained silent, looking at his boss with a stupefied look on his face. Ziva discreetly looked upwards and saw Vance entering the MTAC room; she would have bet a month's salary that the Director was going to talk to Tim and she wished she could do the same. She was very worried about her friend and she desperately wanted to talk to him, even for just a few seconds. Ziva knew Tim could adapt to any situation but_ "military base"_ often rhymed with _"mean braggarts" _always eager to give the newbies a hard time. The woman's jaw clenched painfully at the thought but her dark eyes shone with a dangerous light as she silently vowed to gut any guy who would dare raising his hand against Tim; she would hunt down the perpetrator to the ends of the Earth!

Gibbs was watching the ex-Mossad, wondering what was going through this beautiful and dangerous head but was interrupted by Tony's loud exclamation:

"You can't be serious! Does that mean we have to keep on compiling boring files?"

"That's right, DiNozzo, and it also means you'll put a sock on complains, starting right now. You may not be aware of it but they are one of the reasons why the Cyber-Crimes' guys are not interested in working for us."

"What do you mean?"

Gibbs felt like head-slapping his Senior Agent six ways to Sunday; Tony could be so infuriatingly dense, at times!

"DiNozzo, your loud disparaging of techs has won us complete hostility from the guys downstairs: they've told Vance in no uncertain terms that they would rather eat dirt than spend a minute with us. Some of them mentioned not being patient towards slandering co-workers, others asked why would they bother working with contemptuous people; and one even suggested we should take a dog to replace McGee, since this kind of animal is better considered than our teammate. Ring a bell? Vance also told me that, in spite of my direct orders, you've been yelling all over the bullpen that computer work is good only for geeks, including Tim."

"Boss, I was only joking..."

"**For God's sakes, Tony! When in the world are you going to understand that nobody appreciates your humor?" **roared Gibbs.

A stunned silence followed those words, and then someone in the bullpen said: "Hear, hear!"

Tony turned as white as a sheet of paper: being rebuffed by Gibbs felt alike being rebuffed by God Himself. Ziva glared furiously around, silently telling the other agents to mind their own businesses; she certainly did not appreciate her teammate's childish attitude but they did not need an audience, either.

"Boss..."

"Quiet, DiNozzo!"

"But..."

"Will you shut up? I'm getting sick and tired of constantly pulling your ass out of the fire. And I've already told you what would happen if you'd ever make fun of McGee again; can't you remember the simplest things? Sometimes I think promoting you to Senior Agent has been the biggest mistake of my life!"

"BOSS!" exclaimed Tony, genuinely shocked.

Ziva decided to step in; the situation was getting ugly and it was high time to put an end to this silly argument; otherwise Gibbs and Tony would not need to face a review board to lose their jobs and she did not like the look on their colleagues' face: some of them were smiling in anticipation, as if they expected to see Gibbs and Tony come to blows.

"Calm down, guys!" exclaimed the Israeli woman. "Now's not the time and place to go at each other's throat. We need a bit of solidarity around here, not to throw accusations to each other's faces! So let's get back to compile those files – quietly – and try to savage something of our reputation as the best team of NCIS!"

Ziva perfectly knew the correct expression but she deliberately made a mistake in order to defuse the explosive situation. Fortunately, it worked: Gibbs stopped his growling at DiNozzo to turn about and glare at Ziva.

"It's _"to salvage something"_, Ziver."

"Sorry, my mistake," said the young woman with a fake contrite look that would not have fooled a probationer. "But we really should get back to work, hmm?"

Gibbs inwardly gave thanks to her tact, which reminded him of his dear Shannon: she had a gift to find the right words to calm down neighbors irritated by her husband's rudeness; otherwise, life would have been unbearable around their house! Before nostalgia could seize him, the Team Leader sat back down on his chair and started filling up forms, ignoring DiNozzo who was standing as still as a statue next to his desk, looking at him in absolute disbelief.

"Tony! To work!" hissed Ziva.

DiNozzo slowly went back to his desk and resumed to his compilation of files. For the outside observer, he was acting like any other agent but his blank face and rounded eyes were betraying the distress he was feeling from the argument he just had with Gibbs. One sentence, in particular, was running through his mind like a broken record, increasing his insecurity at every beat of his heart: _"Sometimes I think promoting you to Senior Agent has been the biggest mistake of my life… the biggest mistake of my life… the biggest mistake of my life…"_

The rest of the day went by without anyone from Team Gibbs saying another word.

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><p>Gibbs parked his car in front of his house with a sigh of relief. After another hard day at the office, a few hours of peace and quiet would be most welcome. The street was tranquil, the neighbors had all gone home to eat dinner or watch TV; the sun was setting and a squirrel crossed the sidewalk in a flash to climb up a tree at all speed, making Gibbs smile as he remembered his adored Kelly squeaking in delight every time she spotted one of them in their garden: her greatest wish had been to tame one so she could fatten it with nuts and make it sleep in her bedroom, much to Shannon's horror at the thought of a rodent roaming free within the house.<p>

The silver-haired man got out of his car and checked his mailbox: indeed, a padded envelope bearing the logo of the Iconic Image Photo Centre had arrived. The envelope was backed with strong cardboard and a caption reading: _"Photos, do not bend"_ had been stamped above Gibbs' address.

He wasted no time entering his house and turning on the lights; Tim's photo had been delivered and he could not wait to see how it would look like in the beautiful frame he had made out of East Indian rosewood. Gibbs had spent hours polished it until it would gleam like a mirror, and then he had bought a piece of unbreakable glass to protect the future photo from any harm. Accidents could happen quickly in his workshop and he did not want anything to happen to Tim, not even on a picture.

Maybe, if he was satisfied with the result, he would make another frame, but this time it would for Shannon and Kelly's pictures, instead of keeping them locked away in a metallic box…

All of a sudden, Gibbs dropped the envelope on a nearby table and grabbed his gun before pointing it in the direction of his living room. His gut was screaming at him: _Intruder!_

"WHO'S THERE?"

Only silence answered him, only disturbed by the faint humming of the fridge in the kitchen but Gibbs did not lower his guard. All his instincts were telling him he was not alone in the house, even though nothing had been disturbed. He opened the table's drawer and stashed Tim's photo inside as a precaution. Gun in hand, Gibbs quickly scanned the kitchen, the living-room, the corridors and the closets but there was not a soul in sight. Then he checked his bedroom, the bathroom and – even if it torn him apart – Kelly's little bedroom, which he kept locked at all times as a shrine to his little girl. But there was nothing there apart from painful souvenirs and a lot of dust.

His anger growing by the minute, Gibbs went to the basement, sickened by the nerve of the intruder who had dared to desecrate his _inner sanctum_ – as his gut was already providing him with the answer of the man's identity, even though he did not have him in sight yet. But only one man in the world could have enough nerve to show his face in Gibbs' house, considering the bad blood between them. He switched on the lights and, standing at the top of the stairs, he pointed his gun at the man nonchalantly seated on his workbench, silently turning between his hands the new photo frame made for Tim.

"PUT THAT DOWN!" roared Gibbs.

The intruder kept his hold on the frame and raised amused light blue eyes to the silver-haired man, like he silently dared to make him obey the order.

"Hello, Gibbs."

"Kort," spat the Team Leader in disgust.

Trent Kort's smile increased, and then he casually ran his fingers along the rosewood like a connoisseur of fine antiques would do on a 17th-century frame.

"Nice and smooth… Good job of polishing. You're good at woodwork, Gibbs, I'll grant you that."

"Put. It. Down," said Gibbs in a dangerously calm voice while walking down the stairs, aiming directly at Kort's balding head.

"All right, all right! No need to be so fussy," said the rogue CIA Agent, placing the frame back on the workbench. "Could you put down your gun as well? Boy, considering the way you welcome visitors, it's no wonder nobody dares showing up in here."

"What are you doing here?"

"Why, you are not going to offer me a glass of Bourbon?"

"Damnit, Kort! Quit stalling, or I'll shoot you in self-defense and no jury would condemn me."

Kort raised his hands in a placating gesture:

"Hold your horses, cowboy! I'm not here to start a war…"

"That will make a nice change," interrupted a caustic Gibbs.

"… In fact, my venue here is only to ask you personally what the Hell is one of your men doing in Afghanistan."

Gibbs roared in outrage and crossed his basement in three long strides before pointing his gun right at Kort's face.

"**YOU STAY AWAY FROM HIM!"**

"Whoa! Calm down! I've been patient so far, Gibbs, but that whole _"In-your-face"_ act of yours is getting a bit tedious. It may scare a few liquid-spine guys at NCIS, like that scrawny assistant Ducky keeps around but it certainly doesn't impress me, got it?" said the intruder, his blue eyes getting harder.

Gibbs had to suppress the urge to knock the CIA agent right in the face with the butt of his weapon, but Kort was as well-versed in the arts of self-defense and he knew about a hundred ways to get rid of a gun shoved in his face, with the holder as well. Grinding his teeth from powerlessness, Gibbs took three steps backwards and lowered his gun, never taking his eyes off Kort.

"That's better; now, about that glass of Bourbon…?"

"It's for friends only," growled Gibbs.

"Which may help to explain why you drink alone all the time," answered a sarcastic rogue. "But you're right, let's cut the crap. What is McGee doing in Afghanistan?"

"What do you care? And who told you about McGee?"

"Oh, come on! Did you honestly think the kid's presence would remain unnoticed? CIA had settled eyes and ears all over Afghanistan years before the Soviet invasion in 1979; an insect cannot crawl its way on Afghan soil without us knowing it. We were warned about your butterfly's landing almost immediately – and I admit having being intrigued. NCIS is at the lowest level of the government's agencies food chain and yet one of yours is sent into a war zone with a lot of secrecy surrounding him. Why has he been shipped off and sent to ISAF, Gibbs? Did the people here need a computer tech to fix the servers?"

"That's for Vance to know and for you to find out, if ever."

"Oh? So you didn't know about the kid's whereabouts, either? Must drive a control-freak like you crazy," said Kort with a mocking smile.

"I just know one thing: you touch one hair on McGee's head and I will hang you by your own entrails."

"Tsk, tsk! You really have an obsession for guts, Gibbs! But you can relax; I value my skin and thus I have no intention in chasing after your butterfly. However, I happen to know there are some people out there who would love to entrap him in their net: a pin, a piece of cork, a card and he'll be added to the vast collection of unlucky agents!"

"What?"

"You've heard me perfectly well; I've had it on good authority that some persons from others government's agencies are really puzzled by the kid's presence at ISAF. To be precise: they wonder why a NCIS agent with a genius IQ is doing here, since the Navy guys involved in Afghanistan are SEALs, SeaBees and the Marines, plus the ones patrolling in the Persian Gulf. You NCIS dudes usually deal with terrorists and smugglers on the US soil and you hardly leave DC. Well, I'll overlook that business of yours in Mexico with Paloma Reynosa, and an unauthorized expedition in Somalia to rescue your ex-Mossad damselfly. But all of a sudden, you let go of your team's best asset to send him in the middle of a conflict where friends from foes are hardly discernible and you don't even know where McGee is! Have you gone senile, on your old days?"

"I don't have to answer you!" snapped Gibbs back.

"As you wish; I can understand why McGee has been sent abroad, though. It would never cross your Director's mind to trust your loudmouthed cockroach or the Goth wasp with a mission involving brains. But believe it or not, I've come here to give you a fair warning: watch the kid's back, because terrorists are not his only worries. Like I've said, other agencies want to know what kind of pollen your butterfly is gathering and they won't stop before they'll get their answers."

"Agencies like yours?"

"Why not?"

"Then tell them to keep their noses away from McGee's business!"

"Love too, but unlike you I don't pretend controlling all the persons working in my agency. If some of my honorable colleagues want to know about the kid, they will get the information one way or another. Your butterfly has bright, shining wings, Gibbs… It would be too bad if they were severed by bloodthirsty insect collectors."

The silver-haired man repressed the urge to strangle the roguish intruder, and then he collected his thoughts: Kort had just told him Tim was at ISAF, a NATO-led security mission in Kabul. Thus, the kid was in a safe place for the time being and therefore, there was no need to panic… for now. Gibbs would call Vance and tell him about this conversation, so the Director could warn General What's-his-name and increase the protection around Tim… provided Kort was telling the truth, of course.

"Why are you telling me all this? I'll never believe it is out of the goodness of your heart."

"Nope, it is in the hopes you'll return the favor one day," answered Kort with an insufferable smile. "I like people owning me and you are a good debtor, Gibbs. You grumble and roar and yell and fuss, but in the end you always pay and that's the main thing. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to put a spanner in the works of some unsavory persons…"

Kort saluted in a mocking way and calmly climbed up the stairs, completely ignoring the threat of the gun and the man holding it. Only after the CIA agent had left the basement did Gibbs lower his weapon, his mind reeling from Kort's revelations. He had enough experience to know that stormy relations, fueled by jealousy, existed between government agencies and branches of the military; it could lead to compromised cases, botched expeditions, information leaks… and the disaster could easily be multiplied by ten when it involved people abroad on a secret mission.

And Tim… Gosh, his youngest son could find himself in the middle of a situation without even realizing it.

A few pressed buttons on a cell phone activated the speed dial of Vance's number.

"Leon? It's Gibbs. We have a problem…"

TBC…


	22. A suspicion

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- Archimedes of Syracuse (c. 287 BC – c. 212 BC) was a Greek mathematician, physicist, engineer, inventor and astronomer (from Wikipedia).

- George Smith Patton Jr. (1885–1945) served in North Africa, Sicily and Europe as a General of the US Army during World War II.

- In the 19th-century, a "molly" designed a male prostitute. "Molly houses" were brothels for gay men.

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><p><strong>Chapter 21: A suspicion<strong>

_One week later…_

"A cold one, Sir?" asked a voice.

A scruffy-looking Tim seated on a crate raised his eyes from his notepad and saw Corporal Roberts standing in front of him with a can of cola in each hand; droplets of water were running down the sides of the aluminum containers from condensation – a testimony the drinks had been recently taken out of a fridge. It made Tim realize how thirsty he was: he had been working non-stop in an overheated garage right after the morning exercises, racking his brains about the future casing of The Watcher and its setting on a loaned Humvee. He had barely stopped for bathroom breaks and not at all for midday chow (much to his stomach's dismay). Too engrossed in the problems linked to the casing's design, Tim would probably have not noticed if the base had been set on fire, not unlike Archimedes ignoring the Roman attack on his hometown to concentrate on a mathematical diagram.

Startled by Roberts' question, Tim became aware that he was in a sweat, dirty and borderline dehydrated, so he gratefully accepted the cold drink.

"Thank you, Roberts."

"You're welcome, Sir. I figured you could use some refreshment, since you've been working all day on that Humvee," replied the Corporal, casually seating on an empty oil barrel. "I'm off-duty for the next couple of hours so would you like to have a drink with me?"

"I'd like that very much," answered Tim with a warm smile. Cans were clinked together in a toast and the two men started drinking in the earnest.

Tim inwardly scolded himself for having neglected Ducky's advice about staying hydrated at all times; this sentence was written in almost every page of _"The Duckman's guide of how to survive in Afghanistan as a soldier,"_ the precious notebook that he had learned by heart; he kept it safely in his room's locker, next to his laptop when he went to bed as he would never forgive himself if anything happened to Ducky's wisdom. But the casing was a fascinating problem – very difficult, but enthralling! The Watcher had to be preserved at all times from sand, water and dust, but it had also to endure rough driving, accidental oil spills and possible acts of sabotage. Locking up The Watcher in a hermetic container was quite out of the question: like in any other computer, it would need ventilation to maintain an adequate level of temperature for the electronics. Putting up the casing near the Humvee's motor was impossible: the heat would destroy The Watcher before it could even start to begin scanning the area. Installing the casing on the dashboard was also ruled out, as enemies could too easily steal it if a Humvee would ever be severely damaged by a landmine. All in one, the casing had to be shock-absorbent, invulnerable and hidden within the vehicle, while easily accessible and ventilated at the same time. A real brainteaser!

Roberts looked over his beverage to glance at General Stephenson's "special civilian": McGee had physically changed since his arrival at ISAF. His normally fair skin was getting tanned, with a touch of sunburn on the nose and cheekbones, and it enhanced his green irises; his short hair had been discolored by the sun, giving it highlights of blonde; daily morning training combined with heavy garage tools had built some muscles on his arms and developed calluses on his hands. Sure, he still stuck to his discreet personae and spent hours typing on his computer, but McGee looked more like a reservist recently called for active duty than a mere pencil-pusher locked inside an office all day around, making it easier for him to move around ISAF asking for supplies without having to deal with some people's inquisitiveness.

"You're starting to look just like one of us, Sir, if I may say so."

"Thank you, Roberts. It is my greatest wish to blend in this base perfectly for our project to be completed successfully."

"Well, this part is already done, Sir. Everybody has swallowed that cover story about you being sent here by Finance Corps and contracting with the local builders: it is considered as a less-than-glamorous activity from the troopers but it suits our purposes well, doesn't it?"

"So, you admit spying on the enlisted men in your spare time?" asked Tim with a smile.

"Bah, my being General Stephenson's eyes and ears is an open secret in this base," answered Roberts with a shrug of his shoulders, "but funnily enough people never notice me when I'm in the immediate vicinity. They keep on talking as if I'm not here, and God knows how much stuff I learn simply by hanging around the chow hall or in the restrooms. Good thing I'm not a blackmailer! But people have a tendency to stamp a label on your forehead and they stay glued to their opinion of you, no matter how many times you've proved them wrong."

"True, so true," said Tim, thinking about his parents and some of his colleagues at NCIS.

"Yeah, well the label on my forehead is _"Harmless"_ since I am "only" an _aide-de-camp_, in other words a skiver sheltered from any kind of hard work; so why would the soldiers hold their tongues around me?"

Roberts gulped down a mouthful of cola and took a look around: the garage was deserted and, in spite of the oven-like temperature, it was the perfect place for discreet essays on a requisitioned. This garage was the most remote one of the base and Roberts doubted that more than a handful of persons even knew about its existence. It had no air conditioning, no heavy equipment and it was used mostly to stock up discarded junk. Stephenson had granted McGee a free hand but so far, the young man's demands had been low and it had avoided drawing attention on a new lease of life in a supposedly abandoned structure. The Humvee had been another matter, though – even with the General's influence, a requisition inevitably raised questions but Roberts had managed to find a vehicle after he had ordered Harper, a mechanic to arrange a little 'breakdown' in the engine; then the Corporal had discreetly taken out the Humvee to bring it into the neglected garage, and its absence from the fleet probably won't be missed before a good length of time.

"How long have you been General Stephenson's _aide-de-camp_?" asked Tim.

"Like, gosh, almost four years, Sir. Tell you the truth, in the beginning I didn't have a clue about what an _aide-de-camp_'s duties were and I thought for sure I'd made a mess out of it. But the General took me under his wing and within days, I was able to accomplish my tasks efficiently. General Stephenson is a great leader, Sir; he has the knack to make us understand what he wants without yelling his head off. He has the utmost confidence in his men and sure enough, they would follow him to the bowels of Hell – well, apart from one or two difficult ones but it cannot be helped. He constantly uses that great quote from General Patton: _"__Never tell people how to do things. Tell them what to do and they will surprise you with their ingenuity__" _andI've decided to make that quote my life motto."

"He's the kind of man that inspires loyalty, isn't he?"

"Right as rain, Sir. He respects the troopers and vice versa, which is more than some other officers could say."

Tim had a smile at the Corporal's words of praise, and then a bout of nostalgia clouded his green eyes. Respect… That was something he could ever hope to earn from Gibbs. No matter how hard he worked or the dangers he faced on a daily basis, it was always shrugged off as 'unimportant' compared to the silver-haired man's accomplishments in life. McGee had always thought this kind of reasoning to be absurd and inadequate: every person had his or her own experiences, which were equally important. No one could pretend to have a life richer than another person's and keeping an open mind was the key to acquire knowledge.

After he had been engaged at NCIS, Tim had known he would learn a lot from Gibbs – however, he would have loved to show the Team Leader a few tricks about computers as well; it would have been useful since the older man was totally inept in this area and McGee enjoyed sharing his education. But Gibbs had dug his heels in at the timid suggestion, stating he had no lessons to receive from a subordinate and especially not about his pet hate. Tony had busted out in laughter, stating that such a ludicrous idea could only germinate in a stuttering Probie's brains while Kate pitied the idealist newbie that would soon be chewed out by the harsh reality of working in 'Real Life'. Later on, it had often happened that Gibbs would suffer a setback from his ignorance but he would solve his problem by yelling after McGee or shooting at computer screens – whichever came first. The young man was ready to bet that General Stephenson, had he been in Gibbs' shoes, would have accepted his offer of computer training right away.

"Isn't General Stephenson a bit too old to be stationed abroad?" asked Tim. "Most high-ranking officers of his age are usually found in DC, or they have retired."

"Yes, well, I suppose the General isn't looking forward to retirement, staying at home all day with only his memories to keep him company," said Roberts, drinking the last remnants of his cola drink. "After what happened to his son…"

Tim's lips froze at an inch of his can's opening.

"His son?"

"Oh, yes, it's not a secret here at ISAF. The General had only one child and he died at seventeen years of age."

"That's awful! What happened?"

"A real sad story, Sir: the kid was a walking brain and so, he was endlessly bullied at school. But for years he didn't say a thing about it because Mrs. Stephenson was sick from cancer and he didn't want to dump his problems on top of his parents' – can you imagine that? And then, Mrs. Stephenson lost her battle on the same year their son graduated from high school at fifteen. Poor kid wanted to become a pilot in the US Air Force but he was way too young to enlist. So he decided to take flying lessons to earn his piloting license in the meantime, and that's when tragedy struck again: his plane crashed during a flight; both young Stephenson and the instructor were killed."

"My God," whispered Tim.

"Yes, really terrible. Losing both a wife and a son in less than a year... I would have gone mad with grief if I had been in the General's place – I have a wife and two kiddies at home – but in spite of all this, the General remained the same man: dedicated, fair and a great leader of men, always ready to serve his country. You'll understand why I am proud to serve under his command."

"I certainly do; he never remarried?"

"Nope, he's steadfastly faithful to his late wife. A few women tried to lure him in the hopes of a gold band on their ring finger – imagine, a General of the Marines who is a childless widower to boot, show me the money! But he kicked those lady-sharks out of his life before they could even start dreaming. Alas for bloodsucking leeches, but General Stephenson is committed only to his duty and he volunteered for Afghanistan, as he is quite concerned about protecting soldiers from bombs and attacks."

Tim drank his beverage, thinking about the similitude and difference between Stephenson and Gibbs; both had lost their wives and only child in tragic circumstances, and yet their behavior was completely opposite: Gibbs was like his widowerhood had somehow granted him permission to act a jerk towards everyone, and only Abby had succeeded in "taming" him with her octopus-like hugs; Stephenson, on the other hand, bore his cross in silence, blamed no one for his tragedy and kept his dignity at all times, an attitude McGee could easily relate to. And Stephenson's obsession in keeping his men safe could be explained by his loss: he must be thinking he had failed in protecting his son from harm and thus, he probably wanted to make sure this kind of life-shattering accident would not befall on other parents.

A soft, creaking sound was heard in the garage; Roberts and Tim turned about but no one showed up.

"What was that?"

"Oh, probably the front door is creaking from the wind," answered Tim. "I haven't found the time to oil the hinges yet."

"Yeah, well it is safe to think you've had other things in mind," said Roberts before carelessly throwing his empty can across the garage; it landed between two groups of crates that had been gathering dust for a decade or so. The Corporal then stood up, and asked:

"Before I leave, do you have any specific requests, Sir?"

"No, thank you Roberts; I have none for the moment."

"Are you sure? General Stephenson gave me orders that are quite clear, Sir: you have to be provided with everything for your work, comfort and security."

"Please do not worry; I am fine with everything as it is. Please tell the General that I thank him for his 'gift" said Tim with a nod of his head towards the Humvee.

"He'll appreciate it, Sir. Are you still planning on meeting him tonight?"

"Yes, I'd like to present him a full report and later, we'll go for the video. Do you think the viewing equipment will be available late at night?"

"It will certainly be, Sir," said the Corporal. A full report meant that the General and McGee's meeting would probably last until midnight; then, the 'special civilian' would make his weekly report to his boss in DC in the videoconference room and General Stephenson would probably seize the occasion to talk to Director Vance as well; given the time difference, they probably won't finish before the early hours of the morning.

"I'll make sure the General and you won't be disturbed, Sir."

"Thank you, Roberts. I really appreciate your help."

"At your orders, Sir."

The Corporal saluted, and then he left the garage in long strides. Tim smiled and resumed to his work, absorbed once again by the calculations spread on his notepad….

… And totally unaware he was being watched by a pair of hostile eyes.

Sergeant Miller had entered the abandoned garage a few minutes ago; he had been intrigued by the recent disappearance of a Humvee and, after two days of fruitless searches, he had cornered Harper, the mechanic, in telling him about the whereabouts of this vehicle. Harper had refused to answer at first but a little blackmail had made the mechanic more cooperative – Miller knew about him cheating on his wife with one of the hospital's nurses and he had threatened to send Mrs. Harper some compromising photos by e-mail. Sick with fear at the idea of his indiscretions being published on the Internet, Harper had finally relented: he had confessed Corporal Roberts had told him to sabotage the Humvee so it would be declared as 'damaged' and taken out of the fleet.

Intrigued, Miller had searched all the garages to find the missing van just before remembering about this abandoned building, used only as a garbage dump. He had discreetly entered – even though that blasted door had almost betrayed him with those goddamned creaking hinges – and hid beneath the crates at the sound of two voices calmly talking inside the garage. Better to spy than being spying upon and Sergeant Miller liked to have leverage on people, especially the ones who thought they were better than him.

Peeking through the interstices between the crates, the short man had recognized that slacker Roberts, Stephenson's personal lackey. Miller detested him but the Corporal was too close to the General to be preyed upon – besides, Roberts had the old man's ear and attacking him could prove to be dangerous; but one he had not planned to see had been that civilian who had dared to stand up against him during the medical plane's unloading. Miller had been sent away from ISAF for a week after this incident and when he had returned he had spotted the civilian at the chow hall, wearing a Lieutenant's uniform and making eyes to Doctor Wilkins. Of all the rotten nerve!

Miller had talked about this to Jackson the cook, one of his rare buddies; but even he had not been able to give him much information about that _"Lieutenant McGee"_ from Finance Corps:

"_It's like the man's hugging them walls to make hisself invisible," _had said Jackson_. "Talks ta no one, sleeps inna closet, type on a laptop all day. He's just another bland from DC, a useless mouth ta feed if ya ask me."_

But Miller had sensed there was more than met the eyes; if McGee was a Lieutenant, why had he been dressed as a civilian on his arrival at Bagram Air Base? And since when Generals got out of their cozy offices to greet pencil-pushers in plain clothes?

Roberts had unknowingly thrown an empty can at Miller's head – the Sergeant barely had the time to duck, and he vowed to make the Corporal pay later for this lack of respect – and then, he had a hard time believing what he was hearing!

_Roberts asked McGee for any 'specific requests'._

_The Corporal mentioned Stephenson ordering that McGee had to be 'provided' with everything for his 'comfort'._

_McGee thanking Stephenson for a 'gift'._

_McGee was to make a 'full report' to the General tonight, followed by a 'video'. They needed 'viewing equipment'._

_Roberts assured the General and McGee would not be 'disturbed' during their 'meeting'._

The Corporal had then left the garage, and Miller had had a hard time not to shout in joy at the revelations during Roberts and McGee's conversation. In the Sergeant's twisted mind, the words he had overheard could only mean one thing:

_McGee was Stephenson's boy toy!_

Gosh, it felt as if manna from Heaven had fallen on Miller's head. At last, thought the ecstatic Sergeant, something to use against Stephenson! That struck-up high-ranking bastard, who had held him in contempt for years, was nothing but a homosexual! Miller had to admit the General had hidden his orientation well: everybody had swallowed that crying sob story about him being a widower faithful to his poor wife who had succumbed to cancer. That and the added tragedy of his snot-nosed brat dying in a plane crash had given Stephenson a halo of irreproachability. Miller had relentlessly tried to erode the General's reputation but so far, his attempts had miserably failed one after another: not a piece of dirt could be dug out about Stephenson and the privates were relentlessly loyal to him; some of them had even dared to threaten Miller with bodily harm if he did not stop his snooping around.

But a new opportunity had fallen straight into Miller's lap! He would destroy Stephenson's reputation so thoroughly that the old man would have no other option than to resign and spend his retirement in the middle of the Arizona desert, shamed and disgraced for life.

The short man took another peek behind his vantage point and his distorted brains kept on providing him with "proofs" of homosexuality as he watched Tim, seated once again on a crate and shuffling sheets of paper. Of course, McGee could only be a molly with his handsome face, full lips, soft voice, modest muscles and wide eyes: the portrait of a typical fag!

As for his so-called Lieutenant rank, it could be nothing but a ruse elaborated by Stephenson to have his lover nearby since ISAF was not opened to civilians. It would explain why McGee had to wear a uniform to go unnoticed around the base.

Miller snickered softly at the thought of the damages he could inflict on the little bastard who had dared to pollute the base by his very presence. A few slashes with a blade and it would rip this nice face into pieces…

_Blade?_

Miller suddenly paled at the recollection of the knife pointed directly at his balls after he had tried to have McGee arrested at Bagram; good grief, how could he have forgotten this? It was a nasty-looking blade and it had made a little tear in his trousers, even though that fake Lieutenant had not pressed the weapon against his crotch very hard. Miller had thanked his lucky stars at the time, since none of the privates unloading cargo had witnessed his virility being imperiled by a civilian.

Right after the General's jeep had departed in a cloud of dust Miller had pressured the soldiers to the maximum, making it impossible for them to exchange comments about what could have happened between the Sergeant and the tall guy stepping out of a plane – and yet, he was not certain about Private Fleming: he could have sworn that pimple-faced rat had seen something but had been wise enough to keep his mouth shut for the time being.

Miller's hate towards Tim increased by the hundred; he would make him pay for humiliating him at the air base, but also for being a molly and the General's stallion. McGee may have had the upper hand on him at Bagram but it had just been beginners' luck. The little fag probably carried a combat knife to act tough but ten-to-one he had no idea how to use it properly; after Miller would be done with McGee, the blade would end up rammed between the boy toy's cheeks until he screamed for mercy.

McGee would also suffer consequences for pretending to be interested in Doctor Wilkins: his seduction act was probably a smokescreen for the other idiots at the base but Miller had seen right through this lousy comedy. Besides, Wilkins was _**his**_ and nobody else had the right to sniff at her skirts!

A malevolent smile spread on the Sergeant's lips at the thought of starting a number on McGee at once; the garage was deserted, there was not a soul around and the General's lover was alone. But Miller's natural-born cowardice made him cautious: McGee could have his blade on him; Miller took another glance and a movement from the young man revealed a mean-looking SIG Sauer P228 at his belt – no doubts another present from Sugar Daddy Stephenson but this kind of weapon could make some real damages and the Sergeant valued his skin too much.

No, he could not attack right away; McGee had a weapon, he could dare to defend himself and the nervous Sergeant detested fights where there was the slightest chance against him.

Miller gritted his teeth in sheer frustration and then a diabolical idea formed inside his reptilian mind; he had found the perfect plan for an ambush…. A plan in where McGee would be alone, unarmed and defenseless, like a lamb ready for the slaughter. Miller would have his vengeance without running a single risk on his person and it was the kind of situation the Sergeant enjoyed the most.

TBC…


	23. An apprehension

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- Details of Langdon Park come from Wikipedia

- Details about US legal documents come from my imagination!

- To Guest: Miller has underestimated Tim and it will cost him dearly ;-)

- To Gyrlfrend: your wish will be granted.

- To my Russian reviewer: thank you! :o)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 23: An apprehension<strong>

A determined Abby Sciuto crossed the Langdon Park in Northeast Washington, DC with furious strides, a backpack dandling from a shoulder, paying no attention to the usual public enjoying themselves in this patch of verdure: mothers with kids and babies, sports-addicts haunting the tennis and basketball courts or cycling down the alleys, dog owners playing with their pets, students flirting or families gathered around a picnic. The sun was shining, there were only a few puffy-white clouds in the blue sky and there was a light breeze in the air, the perfect weather for an outdoor day. Since Abby was temporarily out of work and in financial dire straits, she could have planned to spend the day at the park to get some fresh air, free of charge.

However, the Goth's dark mood had made her impervious to this beautiful day; she had been sulking in her flat for three weeks straight and no one at NCIS had called or visited her to ask about her well-being.

_It wasn't fair!_

The woman's wrath had increased to reach the temperature of a thermonuclear explosion, and a litany was repeating itself inside her brains like a broken vinyl record: _how dare they? How dare they turn their back on me? After all I've done for this Agency!_

Abby's life had been spiraling out of control since that fateful moment when Tony had told her about McGee's mission in Afghanistan. She had been petrified for a minute by this astonishing piece of news: McGee leaving NCIS? Quitting the team? Going abroad to get shot at? That was impossible! Abby shared Tony's opinion about Tim's abilities, in the lines that his place was not in the field but behind a computer. It suited her goals perfectly since she had refused to have an assistant for years – she thought it would made her look good to the Directors' eyes: Sciuto the multi-tasks Forensics Expert, able to juggle with several cases at the same time without making a single mistake, thanks to her brilliant mind. With Gibbs' ferocious protection, Abby had been allowed to keep her Gothic attire and a lab all to herself – two stretches of the Agency's rules: it had made her the undisputed Queen of NCIS Forensics and the other scientists were soooo jealous.

However, very-urgent cases sometimes required an 'unofficial' assistant and it was during those times Abby summoned McGee at her lab: his computer expertise added to his scientific background had helped her more than once to find clues about murder investigations but she had carefully avoided telling Gibbs about this. As on cue, her silver-haired fox never noticed a thing – or if he did, he never talked about it. Abby had basked in pride every time Gibbs had kissed her on the cheek and said: _"Good work"_, but it had never crossed her mind to mention Tim's participation. Besides, the computer tech was the kind of man doomed to serve and get nothing in return, making him the perfect part-time assistant/bodyguard/fall guy for Abby. Whenever she was overworked, McGee had to leave his desk at once to give her a hand; if she wanted to attend a rock concert at the other side of town, he would be requisitioned as chauffeur; and she could disregard safety regulations without a second thought since Tim would automatically be blamed in her stead.

Abby's deception had even reached the point of breaking Gibbs' Rule no. 12: _"Never date a co-worker"_: Tim had naively thought she wanted to renew their past relationship whereas she just wanted to have sex with him to spite her then-boyfriend, Doug 'Metal Head' Starkweather, lead vocals of the punk group 'Death wish Devils'. Doug, a guy with enough piercings on the face to make an airport's metal detector implode, had cried like a baby learning about Abby's new man and he had groveled at her feet until she relented to take him back. Then she had dumped Tim – following that dreadful but very convenient business about the deranged fan of his _Deep Six_ book - to fall back in Doug's arms, before breaking off with him for good after he had hit her while drunk. Abby had kept that last part of the story for herself since she could hardly blame McGee for her poor choice in musician lovers.

The Goth woman's lips pressed against one another at the recollection of her former lapdog. _How dare he? How dare he have thrown accusations at my face? I've never hurt him!_

Sure, she sometimes had put Tim in trouble in the past but Gibbs had never corrected her; Tony just laughed out loud and Tim didn't complain about her. If a person said nothing, it could only mean he or she was not hurting, right?

_Right?_

Abby shook her head, ignoring the rounded eyes of people staring at her dirty scarecrow allure. A woman passing by with her five-year old son in tow steered clear away from her, saying:

"Come along, Josh; I don't think this lady is fine."

Well, of course, Abby was not fine; what did Josh's mother expected? Three weeks spent hating the whole world had not improved her looks in the earnest and since she loathed housekeeping, she could not stand staying her flat: the kitchen sink was filled with dirty dishes, the laundry basked was overflowing, clothes and shoes scattered the floor and the trash had not been taken out in a week. The fridge was running on empty, just like her bank account and Abby was at her wits' end to find the money to survive the next three weeks.

Charming her banker was out of the question as the man was an old fossil; borrowing from her NCIS colleagues was a no-go: Ziva had sided with McGee-the-Traitor, Tony had his face buried deep in his navel and neither Ducky nor Jimmy had deigned returning her calls. Her other friends were either too broke or too concerned by their own financial plights to be helpful. The nuns she went bowling with had given her advice of patience and temperance during hardships but Abby preferred cash to moral lessons. Gibbs had abandoned her and that was what had hurt the most: _he had told her to be quiet!_

And McGee... Her suspension had been his _**entire **_fault in the first place and he had not even bothered to leave her some compensation money!

"Damn you, Traitor!" exclaimed Abby. "You could at least have left me the keys of your Porsche! But no, you were too busy accusing me in front of the whole bullpen!"

_How dare he? Humiliating her in public! Accusing her of wrongdoings! Blaming her for caring more for Jethro than for him! Well, so what, if she does? Jethro (not 'Jet'! It was a dog, not a plane!) was an endearing creature with adorable eyes, the epitome of canine sweetness and McGee had shot it to save his sorry skin!_

"He wouldn't have died from a few dog bites!" said the Goth woman out loud, startling a sixty-something man working on a crossword puzzle while seated on a bench. "What a sissy! The dog didn't bite him too deeply, nothing a few band-aids and a rabid shot would have taken care of. And Vance had the nerve to call **me **ridiculous and unprofessional!"

Grinding her teeth like a woman possessed, Abby walked down a quiet path between trees. She was not used to criticism and that session in Vance's office had destroyed her self-confidence; from her early childhood, Abby had been the 'star' of her universe: she had learned sign language before reaching her fourth birthday to translate for her deaf adopted parents; at school, she always had been on top of her classes; her scientific mind coupled with her love for the Goth culture had made her the coolest girl around; and being hired by a Federal Agency had been the crowning of her career. Abby had convinced herself she could never fail in anything in her life and the fact she was under Gibbs' protection had corroborated this feeling.

But that was before Timothy McGee had been engaged in NCIS. Since his arrival, Abby had goofed more than once and only the fact she was Gibbs' favorite had sheltered her from consequences… until the day McGee had announced going to Afghanistan. Then she had been criticized, yelled at by Vance and thrown out of NCIS like the world's worst incompetent, right after the Traitor's public revelations of him being fed up by her attitude towards him.

"You can go to Hell! Couldn't you just have kept quiet? Couldn't you just have stayed behind your stupid computer screen and keep your mouth shut?" yelled the Goth, making a young couple look up at her with rounded eyes.

But like she had already said to Gibbs, Abby had not left her brains at her lab; she was resolute in overthrowing her unfair suspension and nobody had better stay on her way. Maybe she shouldn't have raised her voice in the bullpen – the snickering of the other NCIS agents was still ringing at her ears – but she would prove to Vance her fears about the German shepherd were justified. Abby had not bought it for a second that story about a work-at-home accountant loving dogs and running: knowing McGee's trademark naiveté, Andy could only be a psychopath in disguise, torturing animals and keeping a macabre collection of remnants in a freezer. Birds of a feather flock together and McGee had shot Jethro: hence, in Abby's illogical mind, Andy could only be a dog-hater.

Abby was resolute in collecting undisputable evidence and presenting them to Vance in a way that the Director would have no other option than to cancel her suspension, and then she would ask for a public apology!

The woman ignored the 9/11 Memorial Grove and went straight ahead to a lawn where people could play with their dogs without knocking over a small child or an elderly person. There was a pound with ducks swimming around, a patch of trees inhabited by squirrels and a discreet place where dogs could relieve themselves provided their owners would collect dejections afterwards.

It had taken Abby longer than she would have thought to crack through a few computer programs to find Andy's last name and address; she had to admit – albeit reluctantly – that the Traitor was definitively more skilled in hacking than her. But within two weeks, she had managed to find a copy of McGee's old address book on the NCIS' network with the name of a _"Somerset, Andrew"_ in it. Then she had used her car for a stakeout near that person's address and after a few hours her suspicions were confirmed as she saw a red-haired man with a pleasant face in a jogging suit getting out of the house, Jethro at his heels. Abby had been following them for a week, squandering the rest of her money in gas and stalking them in Langdon Park, taking photos of Andy and paying no heed to passers-by staring at her. Maybe she should have worn more discreet attire while playing amateur spy but Abby had never thought it would matter.

She went through the patch of trees, dumped her backpack on the ground and looked around: sure thing, Andy was there playing 'fetch' with Jethro. The dog was jumping up and down, barking joyfully every time Andy threw a stick and licking the man's hands whenever he complimented him for being a good retriever. Abby felt jealousy stabbing her in the heart: Jethro should be _**hers**_, and not that usurper Andy or Traitor McGee. Curse her landlord for not allowing pets in the building!

She started taking photos in the earnest, hoping against all odds to catch Andy in _flagrante delicto_ of animal cruelty – like him beating up Jethro with the stick or kicking his backside just for the fun of it, but so far luck had not been on her side. After a whole week of surveillance she had just gathered photos of Andy running, playing and walking with Jet, nothing useful for her rehabilitation plans.

A squirrel climbed down a tree trunk and looked up at her with its dark, brilliant eyes. Annoyed by its presence, Abby chased it away with the back of her hand.

"Get away from here, you pest! I'm here for more important matters…"

The rodent squeaked in fear and fled, leaving Abby who returned to her photographing; but after a few minutes, the squirrel came back and perched itself on the backpack, obviously looking for something edible. Its experience as a park inhabitant had taught the animal that strolling humans had biscuits, cereal bars or other goodies and they loved to feed him crumbles... the squirrel had even developed a taste for French fries abandoned in garbage cans. Its nose had detected the presence of sandwich bread inside Abby's backpack: throwing caution to the winds, the small rodent started scratching at the nylon material in the hopes to find an opening.

"For the love of…! Will you get out of here, you stupid flea-infested thing!" roared Abby, grabbing the backpack and shaking it furiously.

But her actions terrified the squirrel, which either held on to the nylon material for dear life with all the force of its tiny claws, or jumped on the backpack in a flash to escape from the irate female human. Too focused on getting rid of her unwanted guest, Abby didn't notice Andy throwing the fetching stick in the general direction of the trees where she was hiding; the piece of wood landed near her and Jethro ran after it in his eagerness to please his temporary master. However, the Goth's ruckus about the squirrel made the dog stop dead and look at the strange scene: a vaguely-familiar female human was shaking a backpack and she looked positively furious.

"Jet? What's wrong, buddy?" asked Andy, intrigued by the dog's strange behavior.

The squirrel finally lost its grip and fell to the ground to climb at a tree in a flash, scared by the sudden violence and the too-close presence of a dog. Abby looked up and she nearly jumped in joy as she saw Jethro at a few feet from her.

"Jethro? Come here, boy, come to Abby! You good doggie, come to me!"

"Jet?" asked a masculine voice out loud, and the Goth woman inwardly cursed the usurper for interfering in her business. It was when she decided to grab the dog and make a run for it; three weeks of frustration had taken a toll on her good sense: since she had not been able to prove Andy's cruelty towards Jethro, the only thing left to do was to protect the animal at all costs.

"Come here, Jethro! You remember me, do you? The lab? These awful people wanting to put you down but I proved your innocence? Oh yes, I'm sure you remember Abby!" cajoled the woman.

She made a movement to seize the German shepherd by the collar but Jet recoiled from her, making Andy Somerset raise his voice:

"Hey, you! Get away from my dog!"

That simple sentence made Abby's blood to boil inside her veins. _How dare he!_

"No, you get away from him!" shot the Goth back. "I'm taking Jethro and you'd better let us go if you know what's good for you."

Andy stayed petrified for a few seconds, but then a frown showed up on his usually-pleasant face. Abby extended her hand again towards the dog but Jethro snarled and snapped its jaws, startling her. Her protégé had turned against her? That was impossible!

"Jet, buddy, come to me," ordered Somerset in a calm but firm voice. The German shepherd turned tail and ran back to its temporary handler without a backward glance, making Abby scream in outrage:

"You bastard, what have you done to Jethro? You've brainwashed him!"

"Are you completely out of your mind, lady?" shot Andy back. "Tim was right when he told me you're an absolute imbecile where it comes to this dog!"

"What?"

"Oh yes, Tim warned me about you before leaving the US and you're just like your description, I daresay! Goth looks, big mouth, totally irresponsible, it fits you like a 'T'. My friend Tim told me he wouldn't be surprised if you tried something stupid during his absence, like kidnapping Jet but if you think I'll let you get on with it then you're in for a big surprise, lady."

"What's going on here?" asked a third voice, and Abby gasped at the police officer in uniform walking towards them with a grim look on his face.

"That woman tried to grab my dog," said Andy.

"That's not true!" protested Abby. "I just wanted to protect Jethro from mistreatments. And he's not your pet!"

The police officer – with the name _"Eicher_" written above a breast pocket – took a look at the woman and frowned: he always had a strong dislike for sartorial exuberance and Abby's shabby looks, completed with ill-applied make-up and unwashed hair, made her to his eyes the perfect poster child for the fight against drugs.

"Is this dog yours, _Missy_?" asked Eicher in an icy tone.

Abby was a bit thrown off by the question; why would that officer ask her questions, instead of slapping the cuffs on Somerset?

"But… Well, you see… I was…"

"Yes or no?"

"N-No! But… The dog doesn't belong to this man, either!"

"Is it true, Sir?" asked Eicher to Andy.

"It is my friend's dog, and I have been granted its guardianship during Tim's absence. I have a document in my wallet to prove what I'm saying."

"Please show it to me, Sir."

Andy took his wallet from an inside pocket of his jacket; he presented a folded piece of paper to Officer Eicher who opened it and read it attentively: it was a notarized document established by Samuel Chester, attorney-at-law, where the guardianship of a German shepherd named Jet and belonging to one Timothy McGee, Federal Agent of the NCIS, would be granted to Andrew Jonathan Somerset, accountant, for the duration of the absence of Timothy McGee out of the United States. In case if Timothy McGee died before his return, Andrew Somerset would become the sole owner of the said dog. And there were three signatures at the bottom of the document: the attorney's, McGee's and Somerset', plus a bunch of stampings.

Abby turned pale at the sight of the paper: McGee had made Jethro's guardianship official before leaving town and Somerset could prove it easily. There was not a chance in Hell for her to contest this document, ruining her potential chances to prove an eventual mistreatment of the dog and be reintegrated at NCIS. Even the Human Society of the United States would not be of any help for her.

_Damn you, Traitor! Damn you!_

"Do you have ID, Sir?" asked Eicher.

"Yes, officer," answered Andy, producing his driving license. Abby desperately tried to reach out to Jethro once again but the dog remained behind Somerset's legs. The female human was agitated and, even though he had recognized her scent, his instincts were telling him it was safer to avoid her in every way possible. Jet was missing his favorite human terribly and it had took him some time to trust the new one; however, Jet had eventually ended in consider Andy as a friend, thus he was not keen to leave him for a nervous female with a piercing voice.

A quick check of the driving license confirmed the police officer of Andy's identity, and he returned both documents to their rightful owner. Then Eicher turned a cold glare towards Abby and said:

"This dog belongs to this gentleman and not to you. Now you'd better make yourself scarce, Missy, before I change my mind and haul your ass down to the station."

_How dare he!_

"Don't you talk to me like this; I work at NCIS!"

"You? Right," answered Eicher with a mocking smile. As if this unkempt Goth scarecrow would ever be employed by a federal agency!

"Yes, I do!" protested Abby at the top of her lungs. "And I've been watching this man because I am certain he's going to mistreat that poor dog."

"Riiiight," said Eicher again, looking down at the well-fed, muscular, shiny-furred German shepherd which was busy licking Andy's fingers in the hopes he would receive get a treat soon. Abby was starting to feel disgusted by Jethro's behavior: even if the dog had been brainwashed, he should not be so slavish towards Somerset.

"This dog is not mistreated and you have no business interfering, Missy. Get out of here or I'll arrest you for public disturbance."

"Not to forget attempted kidnapping of _**my**_ dog," added Andy.

"I haven't done anything wrong!" yelled a furious Abby.

"Oh, really? There have been several complaints made lately, about a woman with a bizarre comportment strolling in Langdon Park for the past week; she had been spotted talking to herself, cursing, scaring off the kiddies; people here like to have some peace and quiet in the area and so do I. Funnily enough, the woman in question has been reported as being dressed like a Goth and painted like an artist's palette: rings any bells? Now blow, and don't you dare showing your face here again!" said Eicher.

"Hey! I left my backpack at the trees, you stupid jerk!"

"What did you say?" growled the police officer, grabbing Abby by the arm with the intention of removing her from the park.

"LET GO OF ME! LET GO!"

**CRACK!**

Andy opened his eyes wide as Abby slapped Eicher across the face; but before he could even react, the police officer had seized both the woman's arms and cuffed her. Abby screamed:

"JETHRO! DEFEND ME!"

The German shepherd whined softly and stayed safely behind Andy's legs.

"All right, you've asked for it, Missy! You're under arrest for assaulting a police officer. You have the right to remain silent…"

"JETHRO! ATTACK HIM, DEFEND ME!"

"… Anything you say or do can and will be held against you in a court of law…"

"JETHRO!"

"…You have the right to an attorney," continued Eicher as he hauled Abby up on her feet.

"JETHRO, YOU STUPID DOG! WILL YOU NOT HELP ME?"

"…If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you…"

"HELP! HELP ME! JETHRO, JETHRO!"

"Do you understand these rights I have just read to you?"

"GO TO HELL, YOU JACKASS! YOU'RE GONNA BE SORRY AFTER I'M DONE WITH YOU! I HAVE CONNECTIONS!"

"Whatever. A little trip down to the station will do wonders to calm you down; and something tells me a drug test would not be a bad idea, hmm? Now, march! The patrol car is out on Montana Avenue."

"LET GO OF ME! YOU HAVE NO RIGHT!"

"Shut up and march!"

"JETHRO! GIBBS!"

"Will you shut up?"

"**GIBBS!"**

Eicher walked away with a struggling Abby, making the other strollers shake their heads in disapproval at the scene displayed in front of them; what could this woman have possibly taken to act so outrageously? Mothers were covering their kids' ears to prevent them from hearing the profanities coming out of Abby's mouth while youngsters somberly thought the Goth woman should have been more careful when using in a public park patrolled by the police.

Andy stroke Jet's head and sighed:

"Tim had warned me there would be days like this; he knew this woman would try to steal you away from me, buddy, just because she had been suspended from NCIS because of him, or so she says. Gosh, to think Tim has to deal with that Abby every day at the office! It makes me glad to be an independent worker."

Jet growled softly, and then he put his muzzle inside Andy's open palm. The jogging-addict sighed again just before petting the dog and said:

"C'mon, buddy, let's go home."

But before they left the park, Andy remembered the Goth had mentioned a certain backpack left near the trees...

TBC…


	24. An admonition

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- More than a thousand reviews! WOW! Thank you very much to all my marvelous readers and reviewers!

- A big 'thank you' to Guest, Fatesmask, ClioUrania, None, Earthdragon, Kerry, T'Seven, Animelvr and Danik.

- To Anonymous: Andy's last name is Somerset, indeed. Thank you for pointing out the mistake.

- The distance between the Earth and the Moon is about 384,400 kms while the distance between the Earth and Mars varies between 55,758 million and 400 million kms.

- Penny's quotes are from Confucius (551 – 479 BCE) a Chinese teacher, editor, politician, and philosopher.

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><p><strong>Chapter 24: An admonition<strong>

_A few hours later..._

"Agent Gibbs?" asked a woman's voice.

The Team Leader detached his eyes from his computer screen and saw Penelope Langston, Tim's grandmother, standing in front of his desk. She had a visitor's badge clipped at her jacket's pocket and a security guard was leaving after having escorted her to the bullpen. Gibbs had already met her in a case involving the murder of Navy Lieutenant Paul Booth and scientific documents about the ANAX Principle stolen by one of Penny's former research partners, Max Ellswood; the ANAX Principle was based on specially-bred caterpillars to launch a genetically-engineered biomechanical plague on the enemies of the United States. This project had been shut down before the Vietnam War since it was _"too dangerous"_ and Team Gibbs had managed to stop Ellswood, Booth's murderer, preventing him to sell those documents to the highest bidder. But in the end, it had been Penny's courage under fire that had truly made a difference. Deep down, Gibbs had been secretly impressed by the woman's strong nerves and sharp intelligence; it didn't take a Nobel Prize in genetics to understand from WHOM Tim had inherited his brains.

Gibbs remembered overhearing Penny and Tim talking once the case was over, especially the part of their conversation when Penny had said how the Team Leader reminded her of McGee's father. An unflattering comparison but Gibbs had to admit it was accurate and his own reactions about Tim's secret project had proven Penny right. His youngest son had called the Admiral on the phone right after Penny had left the bullpen but considering Robert McGee's recent scandal at NCIS, it probably had done more harm than good.

"Hello, Mrs. Langston. What can I do for you?" said Gibbs, taking off his reading glasses and rising from his chair. He knew the old lady had kept her maiden's name and she loathed above everything the word 'Grandma'. Calling her 'Penny' had been a certain way for children Timmy and Sarah to be rewarded with a cookie.

"Agent Gibbs, I've been in Tokyo to give a conference and returned home only recently to find a letter from Tim in my mailbox. After reading it, I immediately phoned my son and daughter-in-law for details but it wasn't a good idea: Rob was behaving like a horse with a hornet's nest up his posterior and Anna was doing her Weeping Wimp act with more acrimony than usual. According to my son, Tim has left for a suicide mission in Afghanistan, where he has absolutely no chances whatsoever to succeed; also, the only thing left is to plan his upcoming funeral and choose a casket – if his corpse is ever returned to the US. I told them talking like this about Tim was absolute nonsense but Rob flew off the handle, stating this whole business was my fault in the first place since I have encouraged my grandson's love for useless things such as math and science instead of letting him whip the 'true values' of a Navy man into Tim. All in one, I called my son an idiot and hung up on him – which is going to increase the strained relationship within our family by a hundred percent – and I came here to ask you what Tim's mission abroad is about, since you are his boss."

Gibbs let a sigh escape from his lips; the McGee's family wrath was indeed difficult to deal with: first the parents, then the grandmother... Thankfully, Sarah had not showed up yet.

"Maybe it would be better to talk in the conference room with a cup of coffee, Mrs. Langston?" asked Gibbs. He glanced around but Ziva was at the morgue and Tony at the lab, meaning he would have to prepare the coffee himself.

"Please, it's Penny. And here is fine," said the old woman as she sat on an office chair, in front of Gibbs' desk. "I don't want to take too much of your time, as I know you save it for important members of your team."

The hinted reproach was not lost on Gibbs, but glaring at Penny would not help. Old ladies seemed immune to his infamous ice-like eyes just like Mrs. Bergman, Tim's neighbor.

"Tim is an equally important member of my team, Penny."

"I doubt that, Agent Gibbs. I've spent only a few hours at NCIS and yet, it didn't take me long to realize you snub Tim whereas the Goth woman and the lousy joker benefit from your consideration. And that lovely Israeli girl seems very proficient with weapons, which may help to explain why you respect her. Too bad my grandson doesn't fit in your ideas of what makes a perfect subordinate – and don't try denying it, you **do** share a lot of character traits with Robert."

"I respect Tim more than you can ever imagine!" growled the silver-haired man. "And one day, I will prove it to you."

"Never mind me; only Tim matters. Now, will you kindly explain why he left for Afghanistan?"

Gibbs rubbed at his eyes in a gesture of frustration; years in the Marines have not prepared him to deal with clever grandmothers.

"I can't tell you anything, Penny. The reason of Tim's presence in Afghanistan is classified information and even your son and his wife haven't managed to pry information out of Director Vance, who is the only one allowed to talk to Tim. All I can say is your grandson's departure broke my team apart and we're barely able to glue the pieces back together."

"And it's all Tim's fault, as usual," said the old lady with a shrug of her shoulders.

"NO!" exclaimed Gibbs, startling a passing by agent. "Tim is not to blame, I am. He accepted this mission not only because he was the best man for the job, but also because he felt nothing worthy could keep him for in DC, most particularly his job. I... I have recently come to realize that he had endured endless hazing since he has started working for me and I, like a fool, have done nothing to stop it. This is my most spectacular failure as Team Leader; he became a damn good agent while thinking at the same time that he counted for nothing in our team but it's the contrary: we are lost without his input, his brilliance and his soothing presence. Gosh, Penny! I took Tim for granted and he left without a backward glance, thinking I was washing my hands of his departure; if anything should happen to him, I'll never forgive myself."

"And did you tell all this to my grandson?"

"No," confessed the Team Leader. "I failed in this area as well; I was too furious about Tim leaving us and when I finally calmed down, well... It was too late. His plane had taken off without leaving me the time to say good-bye."

"Unless Tim had been summoned to Afghanistan at the drop of a hat (but I find that idea highly unlikely), you would have at least a few hours to say your farewells. But, considering the lack of attention you show to my grandson, the only logical conclusion is that you were busy elsewhere with a person who is _**much**_ more important to you than Tim. My money is on… the Goth woman," said Penny with a severe frown.

Gibbs gritted his teeth; damn, Penny was good, just like Tim!

"This person must have somehow monopolized the little attention you possess and combined with your stubbornness, it was a certain recipe for disaster. Tim has left the US without your approval and blessing; do you have any idea how hurtful it must have been for him?"

"Penny…"

"My son has never praised Tim a day in his life. That poor child has tried to please his father for years, before finally realizing it was a lost cause: Tim will never meet Rob's standards since they are farther than the Moon, and so he devoted himself to his work at NCIS in the hopes his boss would one day acknowledge his skills. Little did he know his boss' standards were farther than the planet Mars."

"Penny!"

"I remember Tim telling me your motto about apologizing being a sign of weakness and this mere statement is the proof you really need to enrich your mind by reading good books, Agent Gibbs. May I advise you "The Analects" by Confucius? To quote this philosopher: _"__Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in getting up every time we do.__"_ You are so afraid of failure that you would rather be an office tyrant and keep your subordinates under control until they reach the end of their rope, as long as cases are solved successfully. Unfortunately, Agent Gibbs, this is not what makes a good Team Leader."

"I'm training my people like Marines, yeah, so they'll become the best agents of NCIS! Sure, sometimes I'm hard on them but in the end, they're able to survive any kind of situation. What did you expect me to do, protect them with bubble wrap?"

"Sounds like a good idea, since you treat Tim like a piece of furniture," answered a sarcastic Penny. "But if one day you ever realize he's a human being, it may come to you that giving him three words of praise will be more efficient than a thousand humiliations. Contrary to what you and Rob may think, yellers are bad leaders. _"__H__e who exercises government by means of his virtue may be compared to the North Polar star, which keeps its place and all the stars turn towards it"_; now what would you rather be, Agent Gibbs: the North Polar star or a Black Hole mercilessly absorbing the light of neighboring stars?"

Gibbs' first impulse was to roar in outrage, as being compared to Admiral McGee and a Black Hole in succession was too much for his short temper; but Penny's firm gaze told him it would be a waste of time to protest and besides, losing his temper in front of an old lady would make him look like a fool in front of the whole bullpen. Especially since the said old lady had nailed the problem head on… The silver-haired man sighed deeply and said:

"Penny, I've come to realize the mistakes I've made and the fact Tim's unreachable is punishment enough. I've never given a damn about consequences and it has come back to bite me in the butt – sorry – harder than I've ever thought. I'd give anything to talk to him but Director Vance is adamant: no one is allowed to communicate with your grandson until the mission is over… and Tim is supposed to stay abroad for six months or so. It's killing me!"

"Well, maybe you can use his absence to develop your hindsight, Agent Gibbs. And, like I've already said, reading is a good way for this – temper and alcohol are the worst advisors in time of crisis. My grandson told me you do woodworking during your spare time so building a bookcase shouldn't be too difficult."

Penny glanced at Tim's empty desk and sighed, making her look as if she had suddenly aged ten years. Gibbs suddenly realized the old woman's sorrow and fears, with her precious grandson being in one of the most dangerous countries of the world, where death can strike at any moment. The McGee parents may have been selfish imbeciles but Penny Langston was made of other metal, the same one found in Tim: vast intellect and a leonine heart. The silver-haired man opened his mouth to console Penny but she said:

"I didn't come here to be mean to you, Agent Gibbs. No doubts my grandson had thought about this mission long and hard before accepting it, his letter to me proves it. I just wanted to know what your feelings towards Tim were and, considering our conversation, there may be hope for you yet. Confucius said: _"Only the wisest and stupidest of men never change"_ and you don't belong to either of these categories."

"Thanks, Penny," said Gibbs with a smile of relief. "I really appreciate…"

But the Team Leader's declaration was cut off by Tony coming out of the elevator, shouting for the bullpen to hear:

"BOSS! That Peterson creep is getting on my nerves! He refuses to analyze the bloodied shirt of the Dukas murder; it's a cold case and we're not top priority. Just because he has put his ass on Abby's chair, he thinks he can give me orders and he says the way we've treated McGeek is inadmissible. We're the best team of NCIS and that loser Peterson criticizes us, some nerve! No wonders he's a McGoo fan! You ought to talk to him, Boss, he's holding us just out of spite and I can't get anywhere with the Dukas murder without an analysis. I wanted to use this case for the review board I have to face thanks to McGoofy's whining and…"

_**TWACK!**_

A sharp head-slap stopped Tony's diatribe, and then Gibbs asked with an icy voice:

"Special Agent DiNozzo, do you remember Mrs. Penny Langston, McGee's grandmother?"

Tony's face turned ghastly pale at the sight of the old lady sitting in a chair facing Gibbs' desk. He certainly remembered her involvement in the ANAX Principle and how her intelligent intervention at the underground parking has stalled Ellswood long enough for the team to capture him in the nick of time. Tony had felt resentful at the thought of McGee's having such a smart grandmother while his own foremother had been a humble housewife who never went further than third grade; it had prompted the Senior Agent to harass Tim for a week, endlessly asking about the 'nerd gene' running in the McGee family until Ziva had threatened him with bodily harm if he didn't stop his taunts.

"Er… Hi, Mrs. Langston," said Tony in a pitiful attempt to be polite.

Penny frowned severely at the young man, and said in a clear voice: "Confucius said: _"Abuse only dishonors its author"_. I'm afraid, Agent DiNozzo, that you are a thoroughly dishonored man."

The whole bullpen busted out in laughter; Gibbs looked at Tony as if he wanted to strangle him on the spot; the Senior Agent's face color changed from white to beetroot red, as he realized Penny had made fun of him in front of the other agents while calling him a man without honor at the same time – and who the Hell was that Confusing guy? Count on the McGees to not speak like everybody else!

"But… Boss, I… I didn't mean…"

"Can it, DiNozzo, you've done enough damage! Penny, I…"

"Never mind, Agent Gibbs," said the dignified woman.

At the same moment, Ziva stepped out of the staircases and the young woman's eyes widened at the sight: the other agents were laughing their skulls off while Gibbs seemed to be on the point of committing murder; a quick glance at the Senior Agent's crimson face made her suspicious: what stupid thing had Tony done that the whole bullpen found so hilarious? After a while, the laughter quieted down and the agents went back to their work, chuckling lightly. Ziva suddenly recognized the old lady sitting near Gibbs' desk; it was…

"Mrs. Penny? What a pleasure!"

"Hello, my dear. It is equally pleasant to see you," said Penny, breaking in her first smile since she had stepped inside the NCIS building. "Tim has praised your work to me numerous times and, judging by his tone, it is obvious he holds you in high consideration. And rightly so: I vividly remember your professionalism during the ANAX Principle case and Ellswood trying to sell this poison to terrorists. No doubts you always have Tim's back, unlike a few persons that should remain unnamed."

"I pride myself in being Tim's friend, Mrs. Penny," said Ziva firmly. "We've had our ups and downs for sure, and I haven't always been fair to him, but I can tell you that over the years I have improved a lot under his patient tutelage, and not only in English. I've realized the good man he is and now, I'd go to the ends of the world to save him, if needed."

"I'm glad to hear that, my dear; frankly, I was starting to despair about my grandson's co-workers! Agent Gibbs, I'm taking my leave; just think about what we have talked if you happen to have time to spare for Tim?"

"I have time for Tim right now, Penny," protested Gibbs. "We could go to the conference room and talk more about…"

At the same moment, Gibbs' cell phone rang on his desk; picking up the device, the Team Leader growled in frustration reading the name on the small screen.

"What is it, Abby?" growled the silver-haired man after he had pressed the "On" button. Tony seized the opportunity to lower himself on his chair, trying to look hard at work.

"_Gibbs! Gibbs! Gibbs! You have to get me out of here!"_ said Abby's frantic voice.

"What? Look, if this is a joke…"

"_It's not a joke! Gibbs, I've been arrested! I'm at a police station down Rhode Island Avenue after a busybody cop has arrested me in Langdon Park! I told him I work for NCIS but he didn't want to hear a thing!"_

"But how did you manage to get yourself…?"

"_No time for that, Gibbs! I'm allowed only one phone call; please, come and get me out, I'm in a bit of trouble and it's horrible here: it's smelly, dirty, noisy!"_

"But what are the charges?"

Silence followed Gibbs' question, making the Team Leader frown in a manner imitating Penny.

"Abby! What are the charges?"

"_Er… Assaulting a cop, resisting arrest, attempted dog-napping."_

"What?"

"_But it's all a mistake, Gibbs, I'm telling you! A paranoid cop thought I was going to do a bad thing and he got his head filled with lies. I was just trying to protect Jethro!"_

"Jethro? Abby, what on Earth have you been doing? I've told you to stop being obsessed with this dog!"

"_But you didn't tell me to not watch over him! I wanted to be sure that friend of McGee was treating Jethro well. So I kinda followed them at the park and then Jethro saw me; I wanted to pet him but that Somerset guy thought I was trying to take him away and then a cop arrived; he looked as if I was a drug addict or something and told me to go away. So I… lost it and slapped him; it was just a little slap, Gibbs but the cop got really worked up and the next thing I know, I'm on cuffs!"_

"What possessed you to do this? Oh, of all the stupid things…"

"_But, Gibbs! It was so unfair! That cop makes the biggest fuss over the littlest things! So of course, I resisted arrest: he dragged me to the police car as if I was a sack of potatoes. You should see the bruises on my arm! Somerset accused me of trying to kidnap Jethro but that's a lie, a horrible lie! He hates me because of McGee! Oh, Gibbs, please get me out of here, they going to throw me in a cell filled with drunks and prostitutes. If you act on my behalf, since you are a Federal Agent and all that, I can get a Citation Release and go home immediately."_

Gibbs felt like throwing his phone to the ground and stomping on it until it would spill out its electronic guts. Great going, Abby, wonderful move! A perfect home run! Being arrested for assaulting a cop would certainly not please Vance; he would probably blow a fuse and order a six-month suspension! And how long before the whole NCIS building would hear about this incident? Not to forget the members of the upcoming review board…

The Team Leader glanced around and saw Ziva's rounded eyes, Tony trying to disappear behind his desk and Penny looking at him with an ironic half-smile on her face, as if the old lady had knew all along that one phone call from Abby would inevitably make Gibbs forget his resolutions towards Tim. But damage control was paramount and he quickly made up his mind; Abby could not stay in a police station's cell: with her looks and big mouth, she would not last longer than an hour!

"Listen to me carefully, Abby. I will be at the police station in twenty minutes but in the meantime, you have to promise me to keep quiet as soon as you hang up the phone. Not a word, are we clear?"

"_But, Gibbs…"_

"**I said, are we clear?"**

A sob was heard on the other side of the phone, and then Abby said:

"_Yes…"_

"Now, what's the police officer's name, the one you've assaulted?"

"_I didn't…!"_

"ABBY!"

"_It's Eicher. Officer Eicher."_

"The address of the police station?"

_"1700, Rhode Island Avenue Northeast."_

"Good. I'll check with the booking officer and get you out of this mess. Now hang up, and remember: not A WORD to anyone."

"_Okay."_

Gibbs disconnected the call and grabbed at his jacket.

"Boss, what's going on?" asked Tony.

"You stay here, DiNozzo, and start working. Ziva, can you escort Mrs. Langston outside?"

"But Boss! Can't you tell us what's going on?" insisted Tony.

"Well, Agent Gibbs, your good intentions certainly haven't lasted long," interfered Penny. "One phone call from your Goth and you're fleeing the ship like the proverbial rats."

"Penny, this is important. Abby's in trouble…"

"And Tim's in mortal danger but, unlike your gothic octopus, he knows how to stand on his own two feet instead of running to a would-be father figure at the first sign of trouble. Good old Confucius was right when he said: _"__Better a diamond with a flaw than a pebble without."_ The diamond slipped from your negligent fingers, Agent Gibbs; now try to retrieve the pebble before it gets crushed under the wheels of justice."

TBC…


	25. A precaution

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- This chapter is posted a bit early: I'll be in Paris for the weekend. Enjoy!

- Alexander Fleming (1881–1955) was a Scottish biologist known for having discovered the antibiotic substance penicillin in 1928.

- Jack Skellington is the main protagonist of the 1992 film _The Nightmare Before Christmas_, directed by Tim Burton.

- To Earthdragon: thank you for your review! Don't worry, I don't intend to make Tony look ridiculous – however, his nonchalant attitude will get him in trouble.

- To Guest: thank you for taking the time to post a review!

- To From Russia: I am glad you've enjoyed the story so far. Yes, it is AU and thus, we can imagine any kind of situation.

- To Jaguarsolaris: Penny is a no-nonsense lady who is not impressed by tough-guy attitude. A real challenge for Gibbs! ;-)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 25: A precaution<strong>

_At ISAF..._

"You wanted to see me, Sir?" asked Tim after he had entered Stephenson's office.

"Yes, that's right. At ease, son. Take a seat," said the General, not taking off his eyes from the paper he was reading.

Tim sat on the chair facing Stephenson's desk and silently pondered why he had been summoned; today was Wednesday, meaning it was too early for his weekly appointment with Vance. He had been working endless hours on The Watcher's casing but so far, he had not been able to solve the problem of keeping the program safe from heat and sand – something that was so damn frustrating, especially since The Watcher was greatly needed to keep patrols safe. After having worked for the world's most exigent man for many years, Tim prided himself to be efficient in finding solutions to the worst scientific problems but this time, he admitted having hit a snag and this feeling was making him very uncomfortable. Not only he didn't want to fail but he also feared his intellectual skills were not as sharp as he had initially thought – something that would prompt an early return to the United States. The perspective of facing his colleagues' mockeries and his family's disdain was **not **something Tim was looking forward to, but he doubted the US Marines would keep around a scientist unable to conduct a project to fruition.

The General took his time to finish reading whatever was written on the paper, and then he lifted his eyes towards the young man: Tim looked calm but his green gaze betrayed his inner tension by darting from the desk to the hands resting on his lap, back and forth.

"How's The Watcher going, son?"

"Frankly, Sir, I'm currently in an impasse; the casing's protection from heat and dust is very troublesome, so far I haven't been able to find a solution. I'm very sorry, Sir," answered Tim, feeling desperate at the thought he was disappointing Stephenson.

"McGee, you've been here for three weeks or so. Your mission will last for a minimum of six months; that gives you plenty of time to perfect this casing."

"But I want The Watcher to be installed as soon as possible so the Humvees' passengers would be protected, Sir!" insisted Tim. "I'd hate it if a vehicle gets blown up while I'm sitting safe in a garage, unable to find a solution."

"Can an old man give you a word of advice? Worrying yourself sick with _'what ifs_' won't unblock your brains so stop beating your head against the walls; I've never believed in making people feel guilty so they will work twice as hard as they already can. Maybe this maneuver is efficient on lazybones or incapables but I _know _you don't belong to these categories of persons. I also know solutions can pop inside one's minds at a moment's notice – while talking to a friend, or having a coffee, even asleep. Alexander Fleming discovered penicillin after having returned from his summer vacation; he certainly wouldn't have found it while being locked up 24/7 inside his lab! If an attack ever happens on our Humvees before you can design a 100% efficient casing, I won't put the blame on you as it would be unjust and totally uncalled for."

"_Some persons I know don't have this kind of scruples," _thought Tim bitterly.

"You're part of the people who are always willing to do their best, son; I won't insult your commitment by asking Roberts to look over your shoulder day and night and make sure you're working. The fact you're a civilian doesn't change anything – I consider people on their personalities, not on insignias sewn on sleeves. Just keep your cool, and you will succeed. I know you will."

"Thank you, Sir," said Tim gratefully. Stephenson was truly a delight to work with after having to endure accuser Gibbs.

"The reason I've asked you here, son, is because of a communication I've had a few days ago with Director Vance; he received some troubling information from Special Agent Gibbs and, after checking it out, I want to keep you up to date before your next videoconference."

Tim was surprised: after the scandal caused by his departure, followed by Abby's suspension, he had thought the silver-haired man would expose him to public contempt, no less. What would he care about Tim?

"According to Director Vance, a CIA Agent named Trent Kort paid a visit to Agent Gibbs. Do you know this man?"

"Oh my God, Kort?" exclaimed Tim, his face paling a bit under his tan.

"Ah, so you _do _know him," said Stephenson with a half-smile.

"I'm afraid yes, Sir. My team and I have run into him several times in the past during cases; he's a hard man to understand, since he always follows his own agenda and I doubt even his colleagues at CIA are aware of his actions, but I don't know him personally. What was he doing at Gibbs' place?"

"Apparently, Kort wanted to inquire about you being at ISAF. He tried to get some information from Gibbs about the reasons of your presence here and violence has been barely avoided during their conversation! In the end, Kort left with a warning about information that could be deliberately leaked by the CIA to the Army, Navy, Marine Corps, Air Force..., in the hopes of stirring up trouble and finding more about you and The Watcher."

Tim felt a shiver crawling up his spine; these were serious news, indeed. He was aware the Watcher would attract the attention of enemy spies but he had not thought about the CIA and other military branches trying to snoop around. He was not naive enough to imagine rivalries between the armed forces were non-existent, despite of what Gibbs and Tony may thought about him (it had probably escaped their attention that Tim had a _**Navy**_ father...) but he had just thought his discretion would be enough to get under everyone's radar. Who would notice Agent McGee, anyway? He was just the lowest man of a NCIS team, this same agency being the lowest of the government's, nothing to worry about. But what on Earth could have rattled Kort's cage? Why was he showing so much interest in his whereabouts?

Tim remembered the few encounters he had with the rogue agent: each time, Gibbs had forbidden him to talk to Kort or to stay alone in the same room with him. Tim had obeyed but it had felt like the Team Leader was setting him aside whereas full-of-self-confidence Tony had been put in charge to deal with the slippery CIA representative. Then again, the Senior Agent's prized car had been blown to pieces after Kort had 'requisitioned' it. Tony had never forgiven this act of destruction while Tim had thanked his lucky stars Kort had not set his heart on his Porsche.

"It means there are people out there who want to know about our project, not only the enemy but also people from our side; and they could become intrigued to the point they would stop at nothing to get their hands on The Watcher, regardless of the costs."

"Exactly, son. Agent Gibbs felt that Kort's warning was genuine so he called Leon Vance right away; your Director made some discreet inquiries and, according to him, there has been questions about an NCIS agent been sent in a war zone – apparently, the CIA has spotted your arrival in spite of our precautions but I am not surprised, those guys have been in Afghanistan for so long they have completely blended with the background."

"But would the CIA have an eye on me? Of all people!" exclaimed Tim. He really could not comprehend why his presence would raise a red flag at the CIA. He would have understood if it had been Gibbs: the ex-gunnery sergeant was hard to ignore. Ziva and her Mossad ties were also potentially dangerous; and Tony was as discreet as an elephant in a China shop but his police background did not make him an easy prey. McGee was the geek, someone supposed to disappear behind a computer screen whenever the 'big boys' were out on the field.

General Stephenson shook his head: the kid was truly oblivious of his own value. As if the CIA would ignore an Admiral's son working in a Federal Agency with an I.Q. that could rival Stephen Hawking's! But it was not the time to give McGee some self-worth advice.

"Nonetheless, son, this warning gives me reasons to think danger is near. This is why I'm asking you to be extra careful as I cannot assign Roberts or another to be your bodyguard. You'll understand it is primordial that you stay at the base at all times; as long as you're within these walls, you're safe. When you need to work on the Humvee, warn Roberts beforehand so he'll check on you at the garage every hour. He won't interrupt you but he'll just take a look to see you're fine. And, like I've told you before, keep your weapons at hand and always stay on the alert. I won't let the CIA or busybodies from another branch snatch you away and question you until you'll give them The Watcher."

"I won't tell them anything, Sir. I'm answerable only to you and Director Vance."

"I don't doubt your courage, son. But these guys can extract information from the most uncooperative persons… They have ways, believe me."

Tim realized he would have to live like a prisoner at ISAF for the next months, but his reasonable nature made him understand that, unlike in DC, Stephenson was not setting him aside out of fear he was not able to handle a perilous situation. The General genuinely wanted to protect him from spies; Gibbs assigned Tim to his desk probably because he thought McGee was too soft for dealing with criminals. Besides, thought Tim, his 'prison' was a roomy one: the ISAF base provided various kinds of distractions and it would take a long time for him to develop cabin fever.

And there was also Aimee, or Captain Wilkins, who rarely left the hospital wing. Maybe Tim could treat her for a cup of coffee and a chat…

"You have my word I won't leave ISAF, Sir. No clandestine wanderings in the streets of Kabul or anywhere else, I promise."

Stephenson inwardly sighed in relief; Vance had told him time and time again that his man was reliable but McGee was, first and foremost, a civilian and the General had feared an angry reaction after having being ordered to remain indoors for the remaining time of the mission, but the young man had not blinked an eye. Once again, Stephenson was amazed by this dedication and he surprised himself wishing his Christopher would have grown up to be like Tim, had he had been given a chance to survive the plane crash.

"Thank you, son. Rest assured your determination will be reported to Director Vance. You're dismissed."

* * *

><p><em>Meanwhile, in DC…<em>

"This is the stupidest thing you've ever done, Abby."

"But, Gibbs…"

"The stupidest, in a word!"

Abby fell on her couch and started sulking, making the silver-haired man roll his eyes heavenwards. After receiving the panicky phone call, he had driven through town like a man possessed before spending three hours at the police station on Rhode Island Avenue, pleading Abby's cause to the booking officer who, at first, had not wanted to hear a thing about an early release. The most serious charge being assaulting a police officer, the man was determined in keeping the Lab Rat behind bars, stating Abby's behavior could only come from the use of illegal substances and thus, she would have to remain in lock up before the doctor would proceed to a few analyses. Gibbs had flashed his badge, testified about Abby being indeed employed by NCIS (getting a smart-aleck remark in return, about federal agencies having low standards in recruitment) and in the end, he had appealed to the man's sense of patriotism: NCIS was devoted in defending the US soil and in order to do that, they needed the support of forensic scientists to find indispensable clues – even if some of them were a bit weird-looking. That had hit home for the booking officer, who had lost his father in Viet Nam and one of his brothers in Iraq. In the end, a Citation Release on the name of Abigail Sciutto had been issued and she was due to appear in court in a week.

The 'Cite Out' had not required any bail and Abby had barely spent half an hour inside a cell with a sleeping woman for sole company, who was completely drunk off her head, before she was released to Gibbs' custody on the condition she was not to set foot in Langdon Park again. Officer Eicher had grumbled something about privileged persons but one freezing glare from Gibbs stopped his protestations short.

The Team Leader had then driven Abby home after they have made a discreet detour to Langdon Park to retrieve her backpack; unfortunately, it had disappeared, probably taken by a tramp too happy by his good fortune to ask questions about what was stashed inside the bag. Abby had looked distraught after Gibbs had climbed back in the car with empty hands, but she had not uttered a word about this loss.

Only after Abby's front door had slammed behind them did Gibbs start his lecture:

"What happened to you, Abby? Have you gone mad? Frankly, this is the sole explanation I can give about your recent behavior!"

"Gibbs, that's not fair! I've told you, I just wanted to protect Jethro."

"Protect him from **whom** and from **what**?"

"From that Somerset guy, McGee's friend! The one who accused me in front of this creepy police officer; he said I was trying to kidnap Jethro!"

"And it wasn't the case?"

Abby looked away, trying to pretend she was dabbing at her eyes with a black-laced handkerchief, but Gibbs loathed stalling.

"Answer me, Abby!" barked the Team Leader like the world's toughest drill Sergeant. "Did you try to take this dog away from Somerset?"

"Y-Yes…"

"For God's sakes, why?"

"Because I am certain Jethro is unhappy with Somerset! He's McGee's buddy, so he can only be a dog-molester as well."

The ridiculous statement literally knocked the air out of Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

"WHAT? But what kind of twisted logic is that?"

"Think, Gibbs! McGee shot Jethro, didn't he? Yes, he did! He got his gun out and fired at a neglected dog that had inhaled some coke by accident. But it didn't stop McGee from firing at that poor creature! He wounded it, on purpose! Thank God I was here to defend Jethro or Director Sheppard would have him put down in spite of his innocence."

"You've been repeated time and time again McGee acted in self-defense. Tim had to defend his life, everybody told you this – even Vance! Are you implying that we are all lying about McGee's motives, including the Director?"

"That's not the point, Gibbs! The fact is, McGee deliberately shoot a dog. And Somerset is his friend; it can only mean they share the same cruel streak towards animals. I wanted to prove it to Director Vance so he'd see my fears about Jethro were justified and he would lift my suspension, since you refused to help me and…"

"**SHUT UP, ABBY!" **roared the Team Leader, startling the Goth woman.

Gibbs wanted to grab at his short hair and tear it off his head. How could things have spiraled down so quickly? If anyone had told him a few weeks ago that his team would crumble and fall, like a sandcastle during high tide, Gibbs would have laughed and said that person was simply crazy. And yet, the unimaginable had happened: Tim had gone to a war zone; Abby was making false assumptions that would have ashamed her forensics teachers; and Tony was about to face a review board with very little back-up. Only Ziva had kept her professionalism so far but, considering the way things were turning, it would not be long before she would make a major goof as well.

The angry, paternal side of Gibbs urged him to lock his three remaining 'kids' in the NCIS conference room and give them the lecture of a lifetime, but he also knew it would be pretty hypocritical of him: as their Boss, he had been a major influence on their lives for years and he could not blame anyone but himself for their recklessness and disregard about consequences. The 'kids' looked up to him, since Gibbs' way was _"the only valid one in this world"_. Only McGee had doubts about this statement and his youngest son had paid his independence of spirit dearly.

Gibbs rubbed at his eyes in a mean to clear his thoughts, and then he looked around: the flat was as messy as its tenant. Obviously, Abby had spent her time grousing against the whole world instead of using her 'enforced vacation' to think about her past actions; since her scene at the basement, she had refused to take his calls and Gibbs regretted he had not insisted on check out on her, to see how she was faring. Abby out of her lab was as vulnerable as a turtle stripped of its carapace.

"Gibbs?" asked Abby in a tiny voice.

"Listen to me, Abby, and listen well: your theory about Somerset mistreating Jethro simply because he's a friend of McGee is completely **absurd**. Tim is **not** cruel towards animals because he defended himself against Jethro; therefore, you can't accuse Somerset of being this or that simply because of his friendship with Tim. And don't try to justify your idea with the saying about birds of a feather flock together: if it was true, then I'd be the official King of Goth culture of the United States!"

"But…"

"You had no reason to stalk Somerset at the park. You're damn lucky the man didn't file a complaint against you at the police station; otherwise, you wouldn't have gotten off with a slap on the wrist and a Cite Out. God knows what consequences your little misadventure will have on your career; I'll probably have to beg Vance for not showing you the door!"

"GIBBS!" exclaimed the Goth, genuinely shocked. "You are not going to tell Vance about this incident, are you? Why can't we keep this between ourselves?"

"I have to, Abby; if Vance ever hears about your arrest from a third party, he won't have any other choice than to fire you. Your only chance to keep your job is to confess your spying game and admit you were wrong; I'll remind him of all the cases you've helped solving and with a little luck, Vance will "only" give you a super telling-off and extra weeks of suspension, but in the end you'll be back at the lab."

Abby hid her face between her hands and the silver-haired man thought for a second that she was going to cry, but she remained silent. Gibbs somberly thought of the long hours of negotiation awaiting him; Vance would hit the wall hearing about his favorite's latest shenanigan but the Director was a practical man: Abby was a very good scientist under her Goth costume and finding another forensic expert of her caliber was next to impossible. The agency was already crippled by Tim's absence; Vance was not going to aggravate the situation by firing Abby, especially since he knew her departure would inevitably prompt Gibbs' and that would be hard to explain to the bigwigs… No wonders the Director had pulled Gibbs out of Base Andrews' brig swiftly and promptly!

"I-I can't tell Vance about me watching Somerset…" whispered Abby.

"Why not?"

"Because (she gulped loudly) I've used a camera that belongs to the lab… I was supposed to return it weeks ago but with the shock of my suspension, I forgot all about it… Then I thought it would help my cause to have pictures of Somerset so I took the camera out to the park… I had it in my backpack this morning, just before the cop arrested me…"

Gibbs closed his eyes and counted to ten to rein in his anger; an expensive digital camera, property of a federal agency, had disappeared after a forensic scientist on suspension had spied on an American citizen without authorization from her immediate superiors. This day was getting better by the minute!

"You'll have to confess having lost this camera as well, Abby."

"But, Gibbs! Vance will ask me to reimburse it!"

"If you cause damage, you pay for it – just like in the stores."

"I'm broke! I can't even pay the rent this month."

"Good grief, Abby, what have you been doing with your salary?"

"You don't understand, Gibbs – being involved in Goth culture is expensive. I have to buy lots of clothes, jewelry, boots and make-up to keep my looks; almost all my friends have a rock band: I'm obligated to attend their concerts and buy their CDs afterwards, to help them make a name in the music business; my old car breaks down often: it went so many times to the repair shop there's a spot there with my name on it. I'm organizing a major Halloween party for next month and I have to pay in advance for the music and the decorations before my friends can rope in for the expenses…."

"And you've been living like this for what, years? But how did you manage to stay afloat, with all this money squandered on futilities? Oh, let me guess: McGee, right? He loaned you money every time you'd bat your eyelids at him so on top of being your lapdog and fall guy, he was also your piggybank. But things got tough after he left for Afghanistan and that's why you've been desperate to get your job back. I'm sorry, Abby, but Vance is not the kind of man to ignore the loss of a camera worth at least two thousand dollars, especially since you don't have the reputation to pay back your debts at NCIS. He hasn't forgotten you've adamantly refused to reimburse McGee after you've destroyed his jacket to wrap the dog in it."

"I don't have to reimburse McGee of anything! He's a traitor!"

"NO, HE'S NOT!" roared the Team Leader. "He's neither a traitor nor an animal-killer. He's our colleague, for crying out loud! Our loyal friend! OUR GENIUS! **MY SON!**"

Abby remained agape for a moment, as if she could not believe what she had just heard. And then, she stammered:

"B-But I t-thought… I thought you considered Tony…"

"As my son? I do, but it doesn't prevent me from caring for another man. Tim is my youngest and I've been stupid enough to let him grow discouraged from never getting any praise from me. I've sworn to myself this situation will be corrected if it's the last thing I'll ever do and you know I don't make promises lightly. So you'll stop calling Tim a traitor at once, or you and I are going to have a major falling out!"

The Goth clutched at her handkerchief, her eyes brimming with tears.

"You've always said I was your favorite… It wasn't true?"

"Of course, it was true, Abby! I have a rule against lies, remember? But you being my favorite don't allow you to make scandals right in the middle of the bullpen or to make accusations based on nothing against McGee and his friend. You're like a daughter to me, Abby, and I hate it when you act so rashly, wrongly thinking you can do anything as long as I'm on your side. I'm not omniscient; I'm only human, I make mistakes. And my biggest one has been to not reel you in every time you crossed the line with McGee."

"I've never done a thing to him!"

"Yes, you did. You've been odious towards Tim many times; you've manipulated his feelings for your personal gain; you've deliberately ignored his safety instructions in Mexico; you've let him take the rap for your disobediences. Gosh, if I had been in the kid's shoes, I would have given you an earful about manners years ago!"

Abby started to sob and Gibbs, unable to watch her being in distress, sat next to her to wrap his arm around her shoulders when the doorbell rang. The Team Leader got on his feet to answer the door; he looked through the peephole and saw the face of a red-haired man, slightly deformed by the fisheye lens. A quick check under his jacket made Gibbs certain his weapon was secured and then he opened the door; indeed, it was a man wearing a jogging suit with a backpack slung over his shoulder who was standing on Abby's doormat.

"What d'you want?" asked the silver-haired man gruffly.

"You must be Agent Gibbs," answered the visitor, not at all put off by the cold welcome. "I'm Andrew Somerset."

"Somerset? You're…"

"Tim's friend, yes, and also Jet's guardian during his absence; Tim has told me a lot about you."

Gibbs didn't dare to ask what the conversations between Somerset and McGee had been going: Tim must have described his teammates in a very unflattering way…"

"Okay, so?"

"I'm here to see Miss Sciuto. After she had been caught at Langdon Park while trying to abduct Jet, I thought it logical to pay her visit. Excuse me…"

Without further ado, Andy stepped inside the flat. The Team Leader had to admit the guy was courageous; he had scared the living daylights of countless persons in his life simply by glaring at them but Somerset acted like the presence of the ex-Marine did not matter one way or the other. They entered the living room and Abby's lips made a perfect 'O' at the sight of the visitor; Gibbs automatically placed himself between the Goth and Somerset, ready to act in case of trouble.

Abby shot a venomous glare at Andy and asked:

"Came to gloat?"

Gibbs felt like screaming out of sheer frustration.

"Came to bring, actually," answered Somerset calmly.

"Bring?"

"Why, yes. I think you've forgotten _**this**_ at Langdon Park."

Andy slung the backpack off his shoulder and threw it right into Abby's lap, making the woman cry out in surprise. She opened the backpack's zipper wide and carelessly dumped its content on the cluttered coffee table: a heavy-looking digital camera, a packed lunch, a brand-new rubber bone, Abby's wallet with a picture of Jack Skellington painted on the leather, a small bottle of water, a black windbreaker and two candy bars.

"Oh my God! The camera!" exclaimed Abby, a huge smile on her face. She would not have to confess having borrowed it without permission to Director Vance! Gibbs would bring the camera back to NCIS and no one would be the wiser. One-third of her troubles were gone!

"I was wondering what you were doing behind the trees and then Jet defended your backpack from the inquisitiveness of a determined squirrel. I went home and, after having checked out your address in the wallet, I've decided to bring your belongings back to you; I came here about an hour ago, but nobody answered the door."

"Well, Abby? Don't you think you should thank Mr. Somerset?" asked Gibbs.

A frowning Abby looked up and muttered a barely-audible _"thank you"_ between her gritted teeth. Apparently, she was furious for being indebted towards a man she had decided to loathe but, by a strange twist of events, was the same person who had saved her from a good deal of trouble with Vance. Gibbs shook his head at this display of impoliteness but decided not to react; Abby was simply imitating him, after all.

"You're very welcome," said a sarcastic Andy. "You'll note your belongings are in pristine condition. Nothing has been disturbed, well, except for the digital camera."

"What?" said Abby, suddenly feeling panicky at the thought Somerset would have somehow messed with the camera; she would have a hard time explaining it had been damaged somehow.

"Like I've said earlier, I was wondering what you were doing in the park and so, I took the liberty to read the memory card on the camera's screen. Imagine my surprise when I saw it contained only surveillance photos of Jet and I!"

"But…"

"It won't happen again, Mr. Somerset," interfered Gibbs.

"I don't think so, Agent Gibbs. Tim has warned me Miss Sciuto would be furious for having left Jet to my custody and she would resort to anything (including false accusations) to prove I'm an unfit guardian. But you really ought to stick to your day job, Miss Sciuto: you're no spy, as I've been noticing your little game for a good time now. Playing fetch with Jet doesn't prevent me from observing what's happening around me."

"Mr. Somerset, I can assure you Abby won't do it again. You have my word as a federal agent."

"Thank you, Agent Gibbs, but it will be far from enough to cure Miss Sciuto of her _idée fixe_; I know you won't be able to rein her in – Tim has told me in detail about you overlooking her shenanigans and I'm really glad to not have a playing-favorite boss like you. In the meantime, I certainly didn't appreciate this blatant violation of my privacy so I took it upon me to _erase _all the pictures from the memory card."

Abby's face blanched like she had seen a ghost. A week of surveillance had just flown out of the window.

"You've erased the photos? But why did you manipulate this camera? It's government's property!" asked a furious Gibbs.

"No need to be so melodramatic, Agent Gibbs. Since this camera has been abandoned in a public space, I was allowed to examine it without bringing the wrath of the government over my head. And may I remind you that Miss Sciuto was spying on me, a very ordinary and inoffensive citizen, without any reason or authorization; it could cost her a lot if I ever decided to complain to Director Vance. Tim told me he's a man who doesn't appreciate it when people under his command cross the line for their own purposes. I don't think he would caution the misappropriate use of government's property by a capricious employee who has her head filled with foolish ideas on animal welfare."

"Get out of here!" screamed Abby.

"Now, if you allow me, I'll take my leave," said Andy imperturbably. "Jet is waiting at home and he's due for a bowl of _Doggies' Delights_ soon. Agent Gibbs, it was nice to meet you. If you can persuade your protégée to stop her nonsense, then I'll admit my words were erroneous and you're truly a man of your word – but I doubt it. Miss Sciuto, I will ignore your behavior for this time… However, pay heed to my first and final warning: leave me alone or there will be an official complaint and a serious conversation in Director Vance's office. Actions have consequences, Miss Sciuto, and Agent Gibbs cannot protect you from your own stupidity. Have a good day."

Andy left the flat, leaving a sulking Abby and a furious Gibbs in his wake; thanks goodness Tim had told him all about his colleagues, most particularly the special link between the Team Leader and the Goth – it certainly had helped in shutting them up. But Andy knew that for the next months it would be one thing or the other: either Gibbs would actually persuade Sciuto to give up or the woman would throw caution to the winds and continue her spying on him.

Good thing Andy had _printed_ the surveillance photos on his home computer before erasing the memory card…

TBC…


	26. A sanction

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

-To my Russian reviewer: thank you! The author is very appreciative! ;-)

- The name of Valentina de los Santos is of my own imagination.

- To Elidear, Guest and Earthdragon: thank you for taking the time to post a review, it's very thoughtful of you.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 26: A sanction<strong>

_A few days later..._

"So let me get this straight, Miss Sciuto," said a fuming Director Vance behind his desk. "While on suspension – a time when you're supposed to stay home and re-think about your past actions – you've decided to spy on an innocent American citizen without an iota of evidence against him. You stalked the said citizen at Langdon Park and tried to grab his dog before a police officer caught you _in flagrante delicto_. You threw false accusations, slapped the officer across the face, insulted him and resisted arrest before finding yourself facing charges of assault, public disturbance and attempted dog-napping. As usual, you called Agent Gibbs for help and he had to do some damage control after you've yelled all over the police station that you are employed at NCIS, a respected Federal agency."

"Y-Yes, Sir," whispered Abby, seated in one of Vance's office chairs. She had toned down her Goth appearance by wearing a plain black T-shirt, jeans and having removed about half of her metallic jewelry, all this in the hopes her _"miserable little girl lost"_ look would somehow soften the Director. But, judging by the thunderous expression on Vance's face, it seemed her dressing efforts had been in vain.

Gibbs, on the chair next to hers, had insisted to Pam for getting a late appointment with Vance, after everyone had gone home. The other agents did not have to see the disgraced Abby walking down the NCIS corridors and most importantly, they did not need to watch the outcomes of her meeting with the Director. No doubts her confession would irate Vance to the maximum so the less witnesses in the house, the better.

Gibbs had spent hours rehearsing with Abby about what she would tell Vance: the Langdon Park incident was bad enough and the Director did not need to know she had illegally used a camera belonging to NCIS to spy on Andy Somerset; also, he did not have to know she was nearly broke from both her suspension and her squandering of money. Gibbs had taken the camera back to Peterson at the Lab the day before and he had loaned Abby some cash: whatever the results of this difficult meeting will be, at least she would not be kicked out of her flat or starve to death.

This windfall had not come without a few conditions from the Team Leader: a tearful Abby had to cancel her mega-Halloween party, future attendances to rock concerts and gas fillings for her car; shopping would be reduced to groceries and calumnies against Somerset had to stop, or else! She had protested as a matter of form, stating it would make her a prisoner in her own home but Gibbs had sharply retorted it would give her a lot of time to give the flat a much-needed cleaning-up.

"Agent Gibbs must have succeeded in pleading your cause to the booking officer, since you got out of the station three hours after your arrest. How high was the bail, Gibbs?"

"There was no bail to post, Leon, because Abby got a Citation Release. She's due to appear to court next week, though."

"So there's little to no chances that the scandal could be kept within NCIS. Now, dare I ask the identity of the man you've been illegally spying upon to?"

Abby averted her gaze, unable to look at Vance in the eyes. Gibbs answered in her stead:

"His name's Andrew Somerset. He's a friend of McGee."

"And the dog was...?"

"It was Jet."

"Isn't it Agent McGee's German shepherd?"

"Yeah, Somerset cares about him while McGee's abroad."

"**I KNEW IT!"** roared Vance, slamming both his hands on his desk. **"I knew you would ignore my direct orders!** Didn't I tell you to stay away from McGee, Miss Sciuto? Didn't I tell you to stop interfering about his pet? When in the world are you going to realize the guardianship of this dog is absolutely none of your business in the first place?"

"But it's Jethro!" whined Abby.

"**SO WHAT?"**

"You don't understand, Sir. Jethro was brought here disoriented and wounded, and Director Sheppard wanted to have him put down after he had attacked the Trait... I mean, McGee. She didn't want to hear about my forensic evidences and I had to lock myself up in the lab to save Jethro from execution. Nobody wanted to listen to me! That poor dog was a victim of circumstances, and yet everybody wanted his death! I couldn't let them kill Jethro; it would have been too cruel. He's a special dog!"

"He must be very special, indeed, since he had blinded the both of you to the point you never worried about Agent McGee after he had been mauled," said Vance with enough heat in his voice to imitate a fire-eater. "As I recall, Miss Sciuto, the dog only suffered from a light flesh wound on the leg whereas McGee had to endure treatment for deep bite wounds on his neck and shoulder, plus a series of shots as a prophylactic measure against rabies and another round of medication in case he had been poisoned by the cocaine ingested by the dog – all this on his own time, of course, since his Team Leader's attention was focused solely on the murder and he couldn't waste time on menial matters such as McGee's wounds. Then again, why would you have bothered about your agent, Gibbs? He is 'only' a computer tech, after all – someone who is supposedly easy to replace, hmm?"

The sarcasm made Gibbs clench his jaw, but he said nothing. Vance was already furious after Abby and pouring oil into the fire would not help their cause at all.

"It may have escaped your attention, Gibbs, but the case involving this dog has been nothing but a royal screw-up from your part: you've forced McGee, who was wounded and traumatized, to drive the dog to NCIS without a regard for his security; you didn't bothered to have him examined by Doctor Mallard; you didn't react after DiNozzo played his cruel prank with the barking-mad CD and, on top of everything, you let Miss Sciuto call McGee a murderer in front of everyone. Your attitude has been completely unworthy of a Team Leader – in fact, you acted as if you wanted the kid to resign or, even better, to die. Any Director would have demoted you but Jenny Sheppard probably had too many romantic souvenirs of Paris to set the record straight. As for you, Miss Sciuto, I'm seriously thinking your flirting in cemeteries on Saturday nights have caused you to be possessed by a demon... The Demon of Stupidity!"

"I-I'm very sorry, Sir," said Abby.

"Unfortunately for you, I don't believe for a second that it was your idea to confess the incident at the park. In fact, I'm ready to bet Gibbs forced your hand, otherwise you wouldn't have asked for this appointment and don't bother denying it, admitting your wrongs is definitively not your style. In that aspect, you are truly a chip off Gibbs' block!"

Vance got on his feet and walked in long strides towards a filing cabinet; Abby exchanged a panicky look with Gibbs, silently asking what their superior was up to, but the silver-haired man answered with a shrug – he did not have a clue about what was going to happen but they were about to know… real soon.

The Director walked back to his desk and unceremoniously threw a heavy-looking file folder on the polished wood.

"Do you know what this is, Miss Sciuto?" asked Vance while lowering himself on his office chair again, his eyes as hard as volcanic stones."

"No, Sir."

"This file contains the paperwork following the near-catastrophe you've caused during your lecture in Mexico. To be precise, it is composed of an official letter of complaint from the Mexican government, after your wanderings in a danger zone had almost started a massacre of innocent citizens by drug dealers; the Mexican government hadn't been pleased about this deliberate endangerment of their compatriots whereas they were supposed to stay inside the university's campus. There is also a class action from your former students, let by a girl named Valentina de los Santos; the kids have been very shaken by their brush with death and their parents were outraged after learning about an unauthorized field trip in the desert, right into the fief of Paloma Reynosa. There is a letter from the University of Mexico informing of the sacking of Alejandro Rivera, on the grounds that he should have paid more attention to the students' safety instead of going all goo-goo on you. Strangely enough, Rivera never learned about his sacking since he disappeared from the university right after your plane left the airport."

Abby blanched at those words; she remembered having tried to contact Rivera after her safe return home. Her vanity had led her to imagine he would come to DC just out of his infatuation of her…. Later, she had learned Alejandro was Paloma Reynosa's brother, also seeking revenge against Gibbs for having shot down Pedro Hernandez, their father and murderer of Shannon and Kelly Gibbs. Alejandro's amorous number had been nothing but a sham, and Abby a mere pawn on Paloma's chessboard.

"After having read those documents, I thought for sure we were going to have a major fall-out with the Mexican government and we sure as Hell don't need this, especially with our ongoing war against drugs at the border. The students' parents were asking for compensation and the University of Mexico threatened to cancel any other form of cooperation with American universities since your initiative provoked a major scandal. We had to ask the US Embassy in Mexico to calm the whole matter down and, according to Ambassador Franklin, it hadn't been easy – in fact, it has almost turned into a diplomatic incident! You thought nobody would notice your major goof, Miss Sciuto? Well, you thought wrong!"

"But, Sir…"

"But, nothing. This whole fiasco has been your entire fault since the very beginning; before you left for Mexico you chattered with Pamela, my secretary, and you told her that you hoped Agent McGee wouldn't be your escort because he would be, and I quote, _"a party-pooper"_. Pamela was quite shocked by your blatant disrespect towards a co-worker – little did I know, at the time, that your resentment would go to the point that you'd let Agent McGee eat polluted food just to "punish" him for his unwanted presence or for having proved he was right all along about this field trip in the desert."

Abby started to cry, but a few salty droplets were not enough to stop the lava of an erupting volcano.

"Leon, we have already talked about this. Reynosa wanted her revenge and she would have seized any opportunity to transmit her 'message'," interjected Gibbs; the 'message' in question had been the casing of the sniper's bullet he had used to kill Pedro Hernandez, and the souvenir of that piece of metal held in Abby's palm was still fresh in his mind.

"That's right, Agent Gibbs, but this situation could have remained dormant for years if it hadn't been for Miss Sciuto's recklessness. Her childish attitude could have cost her students their lives; Reynosa's goons could have gang-raped a few girls just for fun. They could have kidnapped a boy and send him back to his family after having tortured him. By the way, there is a very interesting paragraph written by Valentina de los Santos for the class action and I'll read it aloud for you: _"The Reynosa men were pointing automatic weapons right at us and we were certain they were going to shoot any minute. We started to cry, to pray and we were all very afraid we would never see our parents again. Señorita Sciuto protested quite pitifully to Señora Reynosa, saying we weren't doing anything wrong but Señora Reynosa told her to be quiet or she would order her men to shoot at once. That's when Agent Timoteo McGee stepped up and placed himself between the guns and us, like a human shield. He showed his plaque to Señora Reynosa and said he was a federal agent worth a lot of money to the American government. He offered Señora Reynosa to take him as a hostage; in return, she would have to let us all go back to the university unharmed. The students were amazed by Agent McGee's proposal; it gave us a little hope to survive this terrible situation, even if it would probably cost him his life. Señora Reynosa was obviously interested but in the end, she just gave something to Señorita Sciuto before ordering us to get out of her property. Then Agent McGee told us to get back to the bus; he made sure everybody was in the vehicle before climbing inside last. In conclusion: there are no doubts in our minds that we have been put in danger by Señorita Sciuto's field trip and only Agent Timoteo McGee's courageous actions have saved us: his appeal to Señora Reynosa's greed stopped her men from firing at us."_

Abby's sobs intensified after the reading; Gibbs' face remained impassible but his mind was filled with terrifying images of Tim facing Reynosa's firing squad, armed only with his NCIS shield and a proposal. His baby, his youngest son, his lion-heart endorsing the role of the sacrificial lamb in a snap, offering itself to butchers to save innocent children… Kind, gentle Timmy… Gosh, the fear he must have felt! And yet, thought Gibbs in shame, Tim had never said a word about this; probably because he knew he would never get any form of support from his colleagues or his Team Leader.

"By the way, Miss Sciuto, do you remember Valentina de los Santos?"

"N-No, Sir," answered Abby, dabbing at her eyes with a paper tissue.

"Who is she?" asked Gibbs.

"She's another victim of Miss Sciuto's pettiness – one should say that she had dared to mock Gothic culture and, in retaliation, Miss Sciuto humiliated her in front of her classmates by revealing Miss de los Santos was ovulating. The height of elegance! You really ought to consider a career as a fashion designer in Paris! Well, your show-off attitude led Miss de los Santos to file up a complaint against you and, alas for you, she's too far away to fear retaliation from Gibbs."

"Leon…"

"There were enough complaints in this file to launch disciplinary actions against Miss Sciuto, even leading to a sacking. The only thing that had prevented me to do so had been the fact that you, Gibbs, got kidnapped by Paloma Reynosa, your father was nearly killed and your teammates got embroiled in her revenge scheme. After Reynosa and her brother had been neutralized, you've assured me Miss Sciuto had learned her lesson about disobeying orders, but the recent incident at Langdon Park has proved you have been utterly **WRONG**!" roared Vance, making Abby to drop her soaked paper tissue on the floor.

"You've drilled into Miss Sciuto's mind that she has a preferential treatment and she can do anything she wants, including violating the imprescriptible rights of an American citizen. It is warm and cozy under the dragon's wing, isn't it? But now, she will have to explain herself in front of a judge, simply because she couldn't stay away from a dog that isn't even hers. Do you have any idea of the embarrassment you will cause to this agency?"

"Oh please, Sir! I've told you I was sorry!"

"You're not sorry; you're embarrassed because you've been caught on the act of disobeying orders but this time, McGee isn't here to take the fall in your stead and it's a major breach of Gibbs' rules, indeed!"

"That's not true, Leon!" protested Gibbs.

"Yes, it is. You may be unaware of it but you have a Golden Rule that predominate all the others. It states: _"Put the blame on McGee whenever Abby behaves stupidly; he's the designated scapegoat of the team."_

A deadly silence followed Vance's pastiche of Gibbs' rules; the Team Leader was seething with anger and Abby felt about two inches tall. In fact, she was starting to question her reasons for having followed Andy Somerset and Jethro at the park; at first she had thought she had a valid theory but after being told off by Gibbs, and then by Vance, she had to admit her suspicions towards Somerset were based on anger, not on science.

"Miss Sciuto, I won't tolerate this blatant disregard of my authority. Once again, one time too many, you've acted like a spoiled eight-year-old regardless of consequences. Since you won't listen to reason, I have no other choice than to add six more weeks to your suspension..."

"Sir!"

"And you'd better leave that Somerset guy alone; if I ever learn of another shenanigan from your part, you'll find yourself queuing at the employment agency before you can even say _"Gibbs"_! But since it was inactivity that prompted you to act so rashly, I'm giving you something that will occupy your free time: you will follow a course on dog attacks; it presents cases of people having been disfigured, mutilated or killed by the dogs you are so willing to defend, even against your own teammates. You will see what the CONSEQUENCES of being attacked by animals are and, contrary to your beliefs, it is not a little matter. Some of the photos shown during this class are gory but it shouldn't impress a Mistress-of-the-Dark like you, now, should they?"

Abby buried her face in a fresh paper tissue; six extra weeks meant a total of two months without pay. Even with Gibbs' money, it would make it hard to live – she would probably have to ask her silver-haired fox for another bridge loan, otherwise there would be barely enough cash for her car and none at all for the phone. And what would become of her career at NCIS, after a long suspension and a session in court? It was going to damage her reputation as a forensics scientist and no doubts her performance review at the end of the year would be quite turbulent.

"Agent Gibbs, since Miss Sciuto has decided to answer only to you, then I nominated you as her supervisor. You are responsible of her conduct during her extended suspension, and she'd better follow this course if she knows what's good for her. Needless to say, the incident at Langdon Park will be noted on Miss Sciuto's record and she will face the CONSEQUENCES of her stupid actions without accusing Agent McGee or anybody else for that matter. It is time you realize NCIS is not a junior high school and you, Miss Sciuto, are not a teenager any more – in fact, you are pushing forty!"

"Oh, Sir…"

"You're dismissed, Miss Sciuto, and let me tell you that I am highly disappointed by your attitude. It is hard to believe a woman so skilled in a laboratory could behave so ridiculously in real life. To think Agent McGee had begged me to not fire you after Mexico… The poor guy really hasn't been rewarded for his loyalty! Gibbs, stay here, I want to have a word with you."

A trembling Abby slowly got out of Vance's office, clutching at her tissue. Before reaching the door, she turned about to look at Gibbs with a desperate look on her face. The silver-haired man simply nodded her but it was enough to reassure her; Abby exited the office, ignoring Pamela's disapproving glare directed right at her.

After the Lab Rat was gone, Gibbs growled between his teeth:

"What is it, Leon? Abby is ruined; what do you want more?"

"Miss Sciuto's situation comes from her own attitude and not a vendetta from me!" corrected Vance. "But enough of this: I wanted to inform you that Agent DiNozzo is due to appear in front of the review board in two weeks."

TBC…


	27. An invitation

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche (1844 –1900) was a German philosopher, poet, composer, cultural critic, and classical philologist (from Wikipedia).

- Details about military life and ISAF base are completely made up!

- To Guest, King Guest, AnonymousNCISfan, Danae, T'Seven, None, Mr. Danish Fan and Reviewer: thank you very much for your messages. Abby will certainly be shaken up by the dog-attack class but it is high time for her to stop this business of talking without thinking. Vance may have been hard on her but it's a walk in the park compared to what is awaiting Tony at the review board.

- To the Russian guest: the muse is alive and kicking, don't worry!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 27: An invitation<strong>

_At ISAF, three days later…_

Tim was walking down the base's corridors; it was nearly 11:00 p.m. and most of the administrative staff had gone to their private quarters for the night. However, soldiers on guard duty regularly patrolled the premises while technicians kept an attentive eye on the surveillance screens, expecting an alarm bell to ring any minute. Like General Stephenson had said, ISAF was constantly on the alert as a single moment of distraction could spell the doom of hundreds of men and women working there. But Tim had glanced through a window and the base was quiet: deserted grounds, ink-like sky peppered with sparkling stars, the flags floating gently in the breeze. This tranquility suited the young man who had a valid reason to stroll about the base at this hour of the night: he wanted to invite Captain Wilkins for a coffee at the mess hall.

Tim had gathered a little information about Aimee from the few casual conversations he had with Corporal Roberts, like for how long she had been stationed at ISAF, what kind of actions she had seen and if she was supposed to be sent back to the US anytime soon. Roberts, between two gulps of cola drink, had told him Captain Wilkins had been in Afghanistan for almost two years; she always volunteered to accompany soldiers on patrol (and had been crushed the few times she had been replaced by another doctor) and she had recently re-enlisted for another tour of duty out of devotion for the wounded. Everybody respected her medical talents and there was not a whisper of scandal about her – people were even suggesting Aimee was too involved in her work to think about her personal life, as she stayed at the hospital wing from dawn to late at night. She had even provided medical help to the civilian population every time she had been on patrol duty and she had been decorated for her heroism after having helped an Afghan woman to deliver her child during an attack – both mother and baby had survived.

Tim could not help but be intrigued by Aimee Wilkins; she was beautiful, hard-working and very involved in the well-being of her patients. She could have set up a practice in America and earn a comfortable living, so why had she chosen a career in the army? He did not want to pry out of improper curiosity – the kind of behavior _à la_ DiNozzo – but he had to admit he wanted to know more about Aimee, and a chat around a coffee could be a good start. Besides, after another day of work on The Watcher, Tim longed for some company: he was not looking forward to lie on his cot listening to Jimmy's MP3 player while staring at the ceiling for hours.

He arrived at the hospital wing and it was deserted, apart from the few nurses on night shift and the sleeping patients beneath the blankets. Tim knew Wilkins' office was next to the treatment room and he smiled as he saw the lights were on: Aimee was still working! But raised voices behind the room's glass door made him dead stop dead on his tracks:

"For the last time, Miller, leave me alone!"

"Calm down, Doc. You don't wanna wake up your patients, now, da ya?"

Tim felt his blood turning into ice inside his veins; he could only see two silhouettes into the light, behind the glass door but he had no trouble recognizing the protagonists: Sergeant Miller was also at the hospital wing and, judging from Aimee's voice, she was less than happy to have him around.

McGee's chivalrous nature urged him to pounce inside the room and grab Miller by the throat, but he was a seasoned federal agent and years of experience had taught him the importance of evaluating a situation before jumping to conclusions. He was also in a deep undercover assignment and he could not act rashly, not with The Watcher looming above his head like an invisible cloud. So he remained in the corridor's shadows to eavesdrop on the conversation but remained ready for action: if Miller ever tried to hurt Aimee, he would get acquainted close and personal with the Dark Dove.

"Just. Go. Away," said the Captain, keeping her voice low with an obvious effort.

"Ya can't send me away! My arm's hurting, remember? I've strained it while working my butt off to keep this base safe from danger."

"You don't have tendinitis; in fact, there is nothing wrong with you except your brains and I cannot fix that: I'm not a psychiatrist!"

"But I _am_ hurting!"

"I've been a doctor for ten years now and I recognize a faker when I see one; now go away, Miller, before I give you something to cry about!"

"Okay, look, all right, you saw right through me, Doc. It's not my arm that's hurting; it's another part of me which is located… _lower south_…."

The Dark Dove poked Tim in the ribs, as if it begged its owner to set it free of the leathered sheath and let it taste the Sergeant's blood. McGee gently patted the blade under his T-shirt, acting as if it was a nervous pet instead of a weapon, but he was getting increasingly furious. Miller's used a stream of slimy platitudes as seduction talk and it was downright nauseating; Tim would have loved to punch the Sergeant's lights out for his blatant disrespect towards Aimee but she was, first and foremost, a Captain; her rank gave her the power to exert her authority on any subordinate and maybe she would not appreciate Tim's interference.

"Your penis is hurting, now, is it?" said an ironic Aimee. "Well, you should have been more careful: gonorrhea is a highly contagious STD!"

Tim barely suppressed a laugh.

"Gono-what? Wazzat you've said?"

"Soldiers call it the clap."

"I don't have the clap!" protested an indignant Miller. "Who do you think I am, a fool? I'd never screw those ghostly things posing as women in this godforsaken country; I'm way too good for them!"

"In your dreams, Sergeant Miller; in the meantime, you should ask for an appointment with Doctor Rodriguez who is specialized in the treatment of venereal diseases."

"There's nothing wrong with me virility! C'mon, Doc, you know what I mean, don't ya?"

"No, I don't. Care to explain?"

"You wanna play soldier, right? Very well, let's play soldier. I'm a man, you're a woman: get the picture?"

The treatment room's door was suddenly opened wide and Tim retreated further in the corridor's shadows. Then, Aimee's voice rose again, clearer this time:

"That's the door. Get the picture?"

"Don't ya go high and mighty with me, Doc! Yu…"

"It's _**Captain**_ Wilkins to you, _**Sergeant**_ Miller and you're dismissed. Stop coming here to make your hypochondriac number because it gets downright bothersome and I have better things to do than to listen to your pathetic attempts at flirting. This is your last warning, Miller: if you ever step back in this hospital just to annoy me, I'll file an official complaint for harassment to General Stephenson!"

"Oh, yeah? And what proofs do ya have, Doc?"

"My word will suffice and, in case you don't remember, you are not exactly in the General's favors. He'll be too happy to kick you out of the base; you've been nothing but a tyrant and a troublemaker since you've stepped foot in Afghanistan!"

"Not good enough, Doc and besides, this complaint business works both ways," said Miller with a low and dangerous voice. "I can also file up a complaint but, unlike ya, I can get proofs – I work in Logistics Support, remember? It would be way too easy to do a few things so that "mistakes" would appear here and there, like missing medical supplies, vaccines disappearing from the books, this kind of embarrassing situation, ya see? Of course, those "mistakes" would lead right at ya, since yu're in charge of the supplies for the hospital. General Stephenson won't think too highly of ya if he ever heard you've been sloppy on the job and my complaint would happen just at the right time for an investigation. Believe me, no one wants to meddle with a doctor suspected of unprofessionalism – Stephenson will hang ya out to dry and you'll be dishonorably discharged from the Marines. It would be a sad end for such a brilliant career, eh, Doc?"

Miller sniggered (making a beautiful imitation of a hyena in heat) before adding: "Wonder what yur folks at home will think abbat yu coming home in disgrace. It would break their poor old hearts, eh? So you'd better be more reasonable otherwise, yu'll find yourself standing in front of a court-martial and bawling yur eyes out like the self-righteous girly yu are. Maybe I could even tell the General that you could be selling medical stuff to the enemy, eh?"

A harsh punching sound followed Miller's threats.

"OW! You bitch!"

"Get out of here, Sergeant!"

"My nose! You bitch! I…"

A sudden push made Miller to stumble out of the treatment room and into the corridor.

"I said, OUT!"

This time, Tim had had enough; Aimee had proven she could defend herself but Miller was nasty and he would be furious for having been kicked out by a woman. He knew the Captain could not make a scene as it would upset the hospital's tranquility and Miller could take advantage of the situation to attack Aimee. Stepping resolutely into the light, Tim called out loud:

"Captain Wilkins, may I have a moment of your time?"

Aimee's face brightened at the sight of Tim standing nearby the doorway; at last, an ally to get out of this dreadful situation with Miller. The Sergeant was holding his nose between his hands but his piggy eyes widened as he recognized the interloper: it was Stephenson's boy-toy!

Miller's first reaction would have been to forget about his throbbing nose and punch the fag right on the jaw, but Tim's emeralds staring on him made the Sergeant feel a bit uneasy. Queer as he was, McGee was a good head-and-a-half taller than him and he was still wearing a SIG Sauer at his belt, whereas Miller preferred to have his victims kneeling at his feet and unarmed, it was safer. Besides, the bastard could have overheard his discussion with the Doctor and report it at once to General Stephenson. Not that Miller was overly worried about accusations – he would deny them tooth and nails, as usual – but it could make his plans to bang the doctor more complicated in the near future.

Inwardly vowing to make the fag pay in spades for having thwarted his attempt to plough Wilkins' field, Miller saluted Tim in the most insincere manner, a real parody of military protocol.

"Lieutenant," muttered Miller.

"Sergeant," answered Tim, barely repressing the urge to strangle the little man.

"As I was saying, Sergeant, you're dismissed," said Aimee quickly. "I will talk to Doctor Rodriguez and he will give you an appointment as soon as possible. In the meantime, take your antibiotics and go to bed – as for your nose, the pain will stop in a little while. Lieutenant McGee, please come in."

Aimee ushered Tim inside the treatment room and slammed the door at Miller's face. The Sergeant, red-faced in humiliation, looked daggers at the door as if he wanted to break the glass panel by the sole force of his hateful glare, and then he turned heels and walked away. He won't be able to fake an injury anymore to see Captain Wilkins, meaning he would have to find a more direct approach but in the end, she would be done like all the other bitches. Miller could not wait to see Wilkins beneath him, naked and begging for her life. And that poof of a fake Lieutenant would be screwed right after her!

Aimee waited until the sound of Miller's footsteps decreased in volume and vanished in the quietness of the night, before saying:

"Thank you for coming here, Lieutenant. Your timing is impeccable!" said Aimee. She looked genuinely relieved for having gotten rid of the odious Sergeant.

"I hope you won't find me indiscreet, Captain, but I couldn't help overhearing what you were saying to Miller. He sounded like he had overstepped his bounds, badly, and with all due respect I think you should definitively complaint to General Stephenson about his behavior. I can testify as a witness, if you like…"

"NO, Lieutenant!"

Aimee's vehemence surprised Tim; as an NCIS agent, he had seen his share of beaten wives who nonetheless refused to press charges against their husbands, firmly stating their bruises came from an 'accident'. Others would even lash out at helping hands, defending their abusive spouses at all costs on the grounds that what had happened was nobody's business – regardless of the fact they were putting themselves and their kids in great danger. But Aimee did not look the kind to endure abuse out of misplaced pride or affectionate blindness, so why would she refuse to report Sergeant Miller's harassment to Stephenson? The General was an open-minded man and Aimee should not be worried about not being believed, even though she did not have any tangible proofs against her aggressor.

The Doctor sighed after a while, and gave Tim a contrite smile.

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant. I know you're trying to help, but my situation here is complicated and way too long to explain it here. What brought you here anyway, are you in pain?"

"Er… No! A-Actually," said Tim, cursing his unreliable tongue, "I-I just w-wondered if you would like to have a c-coffee with me at the mess hall."

Aimee's blue eyes stared at him after hearing his proposition and Tim felt like an absolute idiot. The Doctor was barely recovering from her confrontation with Miller: what she did not need for the moment was an invitation from a stuttering stranger she had barely exchanged two words with! McGee could almost hear DiNozzo's mocking voice inside his mind, saying: _"Well done, Probie! When it comes down to women, you're an absolute moron! As if this beauty would want to waste time with you, especially after having single-handedly kicked that slimy Sergeant out of the room; she's too tough for you, McSoftie! She doesn't need your shoulder to cry on it. You thought you would be her faithful servant but she uses your kind to wipe her combat boots clean, you simpleton! You really ought to stick to those avatar-girls you chase around on the Internet: at least you won't make a fool out of you when they give you the elbow!"_

"That's a good idea, Lieutenant; I could use a change of scenery and a friendly face."

"WHAT?" exclaimed Tim, genuinely surprised by Aimee's acceptance.

"Why, yes. I know by experience the coffee served at the machines down at the mess hall is way more drinkable than the one we use at the hospital – don't ask me why, but I have a theory that this dishwater is made on purpose to keep us doctors on the edge. This is why I won't mind a decent drink for a change. Let's go!"

* * *

><p>An astonished Tim followed the Doctor through the corridors and minutes later, they were comfortably seated at one of the tables of the deserted chow hall, two cups of fuming liquid standing between them after a few coins had clinked inside the nearest hot drinks' machine. McGee knew he should keep staring at his companion but he could hardly believe his luck; after Miller's outburst at the hospital wing, he was certain Aimee would have told him to go to Hell with the entire world's male population.<p>

Wilkins sipped on her coffee and raised her eyes towards her companion: "You're not enjoying your drink, Lieutenant?"

"Oh yes, I do!" said Tim, taking a gulp of his coffee and burning his tongue in the process. "I was just thinking that… that… it was nice of you to accept my invitation, especially after that row with S-Sergeant Miller."

"I daresay it was nice from **you** to invite me, Lieutenant," said Aimee, returning the compliment. "Most officers I know would have turned a blind eye to Miller's doings – they may not approve of him but there are still people out here who think that uniforms bearing stripes on sleeves are wasted on women and we should remind behind a desk, where we belong."

"That's ridiculous! You're a medical doctor and, from what I've heard, a very good one, too."

"Are you been investigating on me, Lieutenant?" asked Wilkins with a smile.

"Er, yes… I meant, NO, Captain! It's just… something someone told me at L-Logistics."

Aimee took another sip of her beverage and McGee thought for a minute that he had committed a major goof; but the woman's twinkling eyes betrayed her amusement at Tim's slip of the tongue.

"I don't blame you for listening to gossip, Lieutenant – half the people here are talking their heads off while the other half is busy preparing for a fight! It's like a pressure valve coming off to relieve the stress reigning at ISAF but as long as the gossip is harmless, I don't mind; what put me off are the malicious calumnies aimed to destroy a person's reputation, for fun or profit."

"I-I see what you mean," said Tim somberly, remembering some tedious incidents at NCIS.

"Sergeant Miller just loves to tell stories to that bunch of fools he calls his "friends" – like Jackson the cook, and then they spread false rumors at every corner of this base. But they are such idiots they haven't realized yet that Miller treats them as his lackeys, and he will discard them as soon as they won't be useful to him. Oh, how I wish Miller to be driven out of ISAF!"

"Then, why don't you c-complaint to General Stephenson?" insisted Tim. "With your testimony and mine, we could send him home to the US and be done with him. I am c-certain the General will believe us; he can't stand Miller!"

Aimee sighed, and then she casually rested her hand on top of Tim's.

"You're a good man, Lieutenant McGee, so I'm going to tell you why: on top of attending patients here, I also provide medical care to the civilian population. It implies to be escorted by four soldiers, the use of a Humvee, the planning of routes and the use of supplies originally intended for the military. You'll understand it is not only helpful for the population's great needs but it is also 'good publicity' for the US presence in Afghanistan – just like you working with the local builders to repairs schools and hospitals. But my trips downtown request men and supplies and I happen to know some officers don't approve this 'monopolizing' of time and energy. General Stephenson has protected me so far but, if I file a complaint against Miller, I fear gossip will reach other high-ranking ears and it could put an end to the help I provide to my civilian patients. Besides, if a subordinate doesn't respect me, then I'm a lousy Captain and a weak woman."

"**I** respect you, and I'll never f-forget the way you've threw Miller out of the treatment room. You've socked his nose among the way, haven't you?"

"Yes," confessed Aimee. She had not removed her hand from Tim's but the young man did not dare to move a muscle.

"Well, you cannot be c-considered as a weakling and anyone thinking otherwise is nothing but a fool. I have a lifelong experience with loudmouthed people and I-I compare them to drums: very loud, but empty inside."

Wilkins smiled at those words, but her blue gaze darkened partly as a thought crossed her mind:

"I am so sorry you got involved in this, Lieutenant. Miller has probably declared you as his personal enemy and his poisonous tongue will work full-time to slander your name all over ISAF."

"Please do not worry about that; he has probably spread his venom already so he cannot make more damages," said Tim, trying to reassure the Doctor as he could hardly tell her that he benefitted of a full-protection from General Stephenson. In a strange, imitative way, he was living under a dragon's wing, like Abby!

"I'm serious, Lieutenant. Knowing Miller, he will certainly try to make believe to everyone that you're gay and his so-called friends would be too happy to teach you a lesson for 'polluting' a military base by your mere presence."

"It won't be the first time," muttered Tim.

"What do you mean?"

McGee looked at his hand, still covered by Aimee's; he could say that he did not mean anything important but he knew she would not believe him. The Dark Dove moved slightly beneath his T-shirt, like a reminder of prudence, so Tim opted to say only half of the truth and to carry on stuttering deliberately, since it was part of his 'Lieutenant McGee' personae.

"Years ago… I started working in an office and one of my colleagues feared I would become a c-competition for him in the dating pool. I've never understood why he was so worried because he was a very handsome man, full of self-confidence and with a P-Pepsodent smile to boot, the kind of guy attracting girls like flies to honey whereas I-I was only the shy, stuttering newbie."

"_He's not even aware of his own beauty!"_ thought Aimee.

"But that c-colleague, Tony, wanted to be the only one d-dating the ladies at Legal and, to prevent them from being interested in me, he told them that I was g-gay."

Aimee's beautiful face darkened like a thundercloud.

"Tony slandered you on purpose because he wanted to be the only rooster in the poultry? That's despicable!"

"Yes, it sure compromised my sentimental life but it wasn't the worst p-part. Some of those ladies talked about me to some narrow-minded f-friends and relatives of theirs, and I es-escaped three gay-bashings in the parking lot."

"My God! Did the police catch the attackers?"

"The first and second attempts failed so I just thought I was being paranoid, but the p-parking attendants saved my skin at the third attempt, yes," said Tim while thinking about the MPs who had come to his rescue at the NCIS yard. He would have been beaten within an inch of his life without their prompt and efficient intervention.

"And what did your boss say about all this? Did he fire your colleague Tony?"

"S-She couldn't; Tony was highly favored by the m-manager I was working for. He would have resigned from his p-position on the spot if anything had happened to his _protégé_ and my boss couldn't afford to lose both of them."

"So instead of protecting the innocent, she let the guilty party to get away with murder. I wouldn't have minded to give your boss a piece of my mind and you would have seen the fur flying in the air! What about Tony, did he apologize to you at least?"

That actually brought a laugh from Tim: "Apologizing? This is definitively not in Tony's book – neither my former manager's. According to T-Tony, his slandering had been nothing b-but mindless fun and everything was my fault in the first place as I couldn't take a joke. And the m-manager was a firm believer of that Nietzsche q-quote: _"__That which does not kill us makes us stronger"_. I s-survived the gay-bashings, so what was I moaning about? T-Talking to him would have been pointless: he'd told me to s-suck it up and stop wasting his time with trifles."

Aimee gulped down her coffee, and then she looked at Tim straight in the eyes as she crushed the empty cup in her fist.

"This is what I would have done to both their necks, Lieutenant McGee. You've been wise to quit this office filled with disgusting people to join the Marines!"

Tim couldn't argue; in spite of Sergeant Miller's presence and the omnipresent danger, he was starting to feel more at ease in Afghanistan than in NCIS.

TBC…


	28. A session - part 1

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- '_Modern Times' _is a 1936 comedy film with and by Charlie Chaplin, starring Paulette Godard and Henry Bergman.

- Details about review boards and NCIS regulations come from my imagination.

- To Guest, Lunardream83, Earthdragon, KIM, mj, Ollie260211, Moonlight1345, minijo1990: you guys are the best! Thanks!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 28: A session – part 1<strong>

_Two weeks later..._

It was the day when Tony had to appear before the review board; seated on a chair just outside the room where the session would start anytime soon, he glanced at his clothes and smiled: he had taken care of his appearance and the results were good. He was wearing a charcoal-grey suit, an immaculate white shirt, a cream-colored tie and his shoes were shining in all their polished glory. He had his hair cut two days ago (so it would look fresh, but not too strict), he had shaved with care and he had brushed his teeth four times after breakfast, to be sure his smile would not be tarnished by a traitorous remnant of food sticking to the enamel. He had not brought any document or notebook with him since he remembered every detail of the cases he had solved since entering NCIS. Tony wanted to appear as the ultimate investigator with a memory like the proverbial elephant, thus he did not need papers or electronic 'gizmos' to make a brilliant presentation of his accomplishments. On the outside, he looked every inch a professional: cool, collected and efficient.

On the inside, though, it was another story: Tony was scared half to death!

The last weeks had been hectic at the office: without Probie to take over the computer/research/hacking chores, they had been forced to do some boring-to-tears filing of cold cases and one can hardly keep a reputation as 'member of the best crime-solving team of NCIS' while stuck in a pencil-pusher job all day along. Abby's absence had also been cruelly felt with that creep Peterson, definitively not a fan of Team Gibbs. Every time Tony had suggested the forensic scientist to work on one of their cold cases – in the hopes a new element would prompt an investigation, allowing them to get out of the office – the scientist had replied sharply that the Senior Agent had no authority over him and Tony's cases were not more important than the others', in spite of what he may think.

Tony sighed as he remembered the latest row he had with Peterson at the lab...

(_Flashback)_

"_Look, Peterson, I'm not here to tell you how to do your job..."_

"_Oh, no? You could have fooled me!" had interrupted the acerbic scientist._

"_I'm just asking ya if you could take a look at the Cavallo case; Abby told me there was something fishy about it and she was planning to do another blood analysis before she left, so if you could do it right away it could help us to interview another suspect and…"_

"_And, nothing. I don't buy your story for a minute, DiNozzo. The Cavallo case is a slam dunk – Marine hit his wife while drunk, poor girl fell down and banged her head against a heater; it caused a hemorrhage inside her brains and the husband was too wasted to realize the problem before it was too late. End of story! But I can see right through you, DiNozzo, and what I'm seeing isn't pleasant."_

"_What do you mean?"_

"_You and your teammates have been spoiled for years, strutting about like you owned the place and go your own way because you're the 'stars' of NCIS. Regulations, procedures, all this didn't concern you since you benefited from the total immunity of Dragon Gibbs – supposedly giving you the right to act like a jerk and have absolutely top priority for forensic results, to the detriment of other agents' cases. People are supposed to drop everything whenever Gibbs wants this or that only because he's ex-Marine! Sorry to spoil your fun, DiNozzo, but favoritism is frowned upon at NCIS. You can't monopolize a whole lab and morgue's attendants simply because your Team Leader has snapped his fingers on the floor above. Of course, having Doctor Mallard and the Goth scarecrow on your side granted you a free pass but I am not Sciuto: you can't buy me off with Caf-Pows so if you want me to find a clue about the Cavallo case, then get in line and wait for your turn like everybody else."_

"_But it will take ages! I'm warning you, Peterson, I'm not a patient man."_

"_You can wait; it's good for the soul. And if you think you can come down and impose me your cold cases while other agents have more pressing matters, well you've got another thing coming. For your information, I don't like line jumpers; neither you nor Gibbs are going to tyrannize me, do you hear?"_

"_You'd better be careful, Peterson. Gibbs isn't a man to mess with."_

"_Oooh, I'm petrified… NOT! Nice try, DiNozzo, but dropping Gibbs' name around won't be enough to make me stand to attention. Besides, I would be working faster if it weren't for you being a nuisance in this lab. So pack up your pitiful attempts at intimidation and clear off, before I file up a complaint against you and, considering your own situation, you'd better make yourself scarce. Appeared in front of a review board, already?"_

_(End of flashback)_

Tony casted a nervous glance at the clock above the door: only two minutes left before the session would start. The Senior Agent closed his eyes, and tried to relax: he had gone through all the cases he had solved since the day he had been hired at NCIS and he was prepared for any kind of question; he knew all the details about victims, murder weapons, suspects, drug trafficking, places, agencies that Team Gibbs had investigated over the years. The review board would not fault him on not remembering his own cases; that was a sure thing!

As for paperwork, he was also on the clear: Gibbs had made it sure his Senior Agent always delivered his reports right on schedule –a few head-slaps had drilled the notion of exactitude in Tony's brains; also, he had never broken or misplaced equipment while investigating crime scenes; he had not been involved in an accident while driving the NCIS van – unlike Ziva, Tony respected the rules of the road – and he had always cleaned it when his turn was up. Tony could not be blamed for carelessness towards government's vehicles or idleness in paperwork, either!

But there were other matters… other _embarrassing_ matters…

Tony gulped and it made him open his eyes; thankfully, there was not a soul around the waiting area so his discomfort had not been witnessed by anyone. He was a professional, for God's sakes, not a probationer waiting for the yearly performance review! And yet, nervousness had been its constant companion these past few weeks, in spite of having spent evenings and weekends re-reading his case files. The review board had hovered above his head like a cloud of doom, haunting him night and day and Tony had not been able to find solace in his favorite pastimes, namely movie-watching and scoring with beautiful women in bars. His DVD player had been gathering dust in his living-room and his favorite pizza joint had been puzzled by the silence of their favorite customer.

Ziva had been of great help, providing him with moral support even though she had not appreciated his attitude concerning McGee and making sure he would eat and sleep at regular hours so he would not compromise his health before the review board would even start. Ducky had also given him advice about how to behave while on the hot seat: the old man had faced inquiries a few times in his life, especially after having this nasty piece of business involving the CIA and MI6 about _'Mr. Pain'_. Jimmy, on the other hand, had barely spoken to Tony but the Senior Agent had dismissed the young soon-to-be doctor from his mind: what use could the Autopsy Gremlin be of, anyway? And Gibbs… Well, he had given him advice as well, mostly by reminding him a few truisms like: _"Never lie", "Don't take the people of the review board for fools" _or_ "Keep calm and answer the questions" _and _"Get a legal representative"_ but it had not helped Tony much.

In fact, relations between the Team Leader and the Senior Agent had been strained as of late, since that fateful day when Gibbs had roared in the bullpen that maybe promoting Tony had been nothing but a big mistake. The young man, who was very prideful of his rank, had been shattered hearing his mentor having second thoughts about his promotion. Ziva had tried to console Tony by pointing out that Gibbs' hurtful remark had been fueled mostly by McGee's abrupt departure, a stormy meeting with Director Vance and the unanimous refusal of the computer techs to work with them; she was probably right, but Tony had been badly shaken by this incident and he had not tried to visit Gibbs to his house after work. The Team Leader was obsessed by McGee's absence and apparently would not have given a damn if the world had crashed down – and Tony was buried alive under the rumbles. Even worse, it was like Tony had been replaced by McGee in Gibbs' fatherly affection. Disgusted by the thought, Tony had refused to get a legal advisor: he was a big boy and he did not ask for an attorney whenever he was in trouble, unlike the criminals he put behind bars for a living. Tony DiNozzo was a real man and he faced the music alone... He was not the kind to run to the ends of the Earth and leave a mess behind!

A flash of anger shone in Tony's blue eyes. _Damn you, McGee!_

But his inner recriminations were cut short as the room's door opened and a pretty assistant poke her head out:

"Agent DiNozzo? The review board will see you now."

* * *

><p>"Please state your full name and rank for the record."<p>

"Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo Junior, NCIS," answered Tony. His voice did not falter while giving his name and it boosted his confidence a bit as this situation was unerving. He was more used in _interrogating_ people than _being interrogated_ and frankly, being seated in front of three severe-looking persons with a large table cluttered with papers and files between them was not a pleasant experience; it made him feel lonely and vulnerable and Tony realized Abby was probably feeling the same thing after Vance had kicked her out of her lab.

The review board members were two men in their fifties and a woman in her forties, dressed in dark colors and with a no-nonsense frown on their faces. The woman had been the one who had asked for his full identity and apparently, she would be the one calling the tune. She was wearing her blonde hair in a bun and her tanned skin betrayed a frequent use of sun-beds.

"I am Agent Carter," said the woman, "and these gentlemen are Agent Sewell and Agent Stephens. We have been asked to compose this review board after serious allegations have been made against you, Agent DiNozzo. We expect you to answer to all our questions truthfully and to not try to hide any aspects of your work at NCIS, do you understand?"

"Yes, Ma'am… I meant, yes, Agent Carter," said Tony with a grin.

The disarming smile, however, did not disarm the review board's members.

"Agent DiNozzo, could you tell us what your duties are at NCIS?" asked Sewell.

"I'm Senior Agent, meaning my main tasks are investigating crime scenes, collecting evidences for the forensics lab, interviewing witnesses and, once I'm back at headquarters, to link the different clues together in order to find the perpetrators and arrest them."

"Do you do all this work alone, Agent DiNozzo?"

"No, of course not. I'm part of a team lead by Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs."

"What are the other members of your team?"

"There are Special Agent Ziva David, forensic scientist Abby Sciuto, Doctor Mallard who is our Medical Examiner, his assistant Jimmy Palmer and… Special Agent Tim McGee."

Tony's hesitation was not lost on Sewel and Stephens, who exchanged a glance while Carter asked sharply:

"You seem reluctant to name this last person. Do you have a problem with Agent McGee?"

"Er… No!" exclaimed Tony.

"We'll see about that later. Now, for how long have you been working at NCIS, Agent DiNozzo?"

"Almost nine years, Ma'am."

"It's _**Agent Carter**_ to you. And what were you doing before becoming a federal agent?"

"I was a cop; I worked in three different police departments in Peoria, Philadelphia and Baltimore. It was where I met Agent Gibbs, who hired me after a little stint I've done during a case he was working on with Baltimore's homicide division."

"How long have you stayed in these cities?"

"About two years, tops."

"You've stayed only two years in each city? Why, were you restless?" asked Agent Stephens, a dark-skinned man watching him attentively behind his gold-rimmed glasses.

"Em, no… I wanted to broaden my experience."

"Really? This is not coherent with the reports we have gathered from the police departments of Peoria, Philadelphia and Baltimore," said Agent Sewell while taking out a few sheets of paper from a file. "According to your supervisors, you've been transferred every time because the other officers were fed up with, and I quote, _'DiNozzo's cockiness, disregard towards his fellow colleagues and annoying humor'_."

Tony's smile froze on his lips. It was true that he had not left an imperishable souvenir to his cop colleagues: for some reason, they had not appreciated him in spite of being streetwise, athletic and very competent with firearms. Different Lieutenants had told him to shut up and his suggestions had been constantly ignored; Tony had barely avoided a few fights with the other cops after he had flirted with the wrong girlfriend and his former partners had not bothered to maintain contact with him after he had left. Tony had been close to be transferred for another city just before meeting Gibbs in a Baltimore back alley.

Agent Sewell, a thin, gray-haired man carried on: "Jokes of dubious taste are also mentioned, as well as disparagement of rookie officers, chauvinistic behavior towards women and nonchalance while interviewing witnesses. A complaint had been filed against you by a woman in Philadelphia, on the grounds that you've been talking loudly about movies while her murdered husband's body was taken away by the paramedics. The complaint had not been followed up because you've moved to Baltimore shortly after."

Tony was beginning to feel a little ill at ease. Maybe he should have asked for a legal representative...

"Agent Sewell, quoting movies is my way to cope with stress... I remember that man's murder, it had been tough and I needed to talk and the only thing that came to my mind had been a John Carpenter movie I've seen just the day before; I had to think about other things than the murder, otherwise I would have puked my guts out right here and there and..."

"Language, Agent DiNozzo! You're not in the streets of Philadelphia anymore." exclaimed Agent Carter.

"Sorry," muttered Tony, inwardly wishing Agent Carter for a long stay in Hell.

"I quite understand your need to ease your mind while dealing with dead bodies, Agent DiNozzo," said Sewell. "However, you will admit that discretion is not your _forte_. You could have talked about movies out of earshot of the victim's wife and none would have been the wiser. Then again, you're not the kind of person who takes into consideration other people's feelings while you talk out loud, are you?"

Tony gritted his perfect teeth; damn it, the guy was trying to make him look like an incompetent!

"I am discreet enough to have successfully completed undercover operations in both the police force and NCIS; I am able to improvise cover identities at the drop of a hat, and this talent has proved to be invaluable for solving cases, according to my Team Leader who is a former Marine and a gunnery Sergeant."

"Unfortunately for you, Agent Gibbs isn't the only authorized reference here at NCIS. Other agents have been put off more than once with your behavior and it seems you haven't changed a bit from your days as a cop. Since you have arrived at NCIS, there have been mentions of lousy jokes, belittlement of probationers, promiscuous behavior and clownish attitude during interviews. My, isn't it amazing how history repeats itself!"

"But..."

"And you seemed to have added a few strings to your bow as well, Agent DiNozzo," interrupted Agent Stephens. "In this report, it appears that you have developed an inclination for hazing, vandalism, calumny and disloyalty…"

Tony jumped on his seat: disloyal, him? That was an insult and he was not going to let it go, review board or not!

"I am not disloyal!" shouted the young man. "I'm a federal agent totally devoted to his country! My crime-solving rate is one of the highest at NCIS and my work is highly considered! I have foiled bomb attacks, wiped out drug trafficking, solved more murders than the other teams put together! I went to Iraq for a mission and…"

"You haven't let me finished, Agent DiNozzo," said Stephens. "I was going to say that your newfound inclinations have started, strangely enough, right after Special Agent McGee had entered NCIS."

Tony's grandiloquence got cut short like with a billhook and at the same moment, an image flashed inside his mind: the famous sequence of the _'Modern Times'_ movie, where Charlie Chaplin's 'Little Tramp' character was making a blindfolded roller-skating number in a department store. But after having removed the cloth from his eyes, the Little Tramp had to skate backwards like a man possessed to avoid falling to his death through a huge gap in the floor. Tony realized with a shiver of fear that he was in a situation similar to Chaplin's: a trap was awaiting him and he ought to back-pedal quickly in order to avoid a catastrophe.

"What do you mean?" asked the Senior Agent in a calmer voice.

"You really are not aware of your indiscreet nature, Agent DiNozzo," said Carter. "It is a well-known fact that you have given Agent McGee a hard time since he had stepped foot in NCIS, even before he had been officially hired. You have relentlessly hazed this young man, starting by insulting deformations of his last name. The list is quite long so I'll mention only the most offensive ones: _'McGoo'_,_ 'McCoward'_,_ 'McThirdWheel' _and_ 'McGoogle'_. Well, your attitude was already a brilliant demonstration of immaturity, the kind usually found in high school bullies; however, your hazing did not stop there: you have also relentlessly degraded the work of Agent McGee in front of your Team Leader, the late Agent Todd, Agent David, Doctor Mallard and also witnesses involved in murder cases. According to you, people able to find clues using computers are nothing but 'geeks' who should leave field work to real men. But apparently, you didn't realize all Headquarters could hear your loud disparaging comments since you work in an **open area**."

"It appears that Agent McGee is highly qualified, which could explain your resentment towards him: Agent Gibbs and you have the reputation to despise clever people," said Agent Sewell.

"Which is unfortunate for you, since 95% of NCIS employees have at least a Bachelor of Arts degree under their belts," concluded Agent Stephens.

"That's not true!" exclaimed Tony, disregarding his own advice for prudence. "I don't have anything against educated people. I earned a B.A. in physical education at Ohio State University!"

"Anyway, your hazing didn't stop to name-calling and public derision. You also resorted to vandalism to express your disdain towards Agent McGee by super-gluing his keyboard to his fingers thrice… regardless of the fact that you were deliberately damaging equipment belonging to NCIS."

"I was only joking, Agent Carter. I've thought it would be funny to see McGee literally glued to his computer… Just little light-hearted moments to get our minds off the stress of the job, you see?"

"Oh, really? Did you honestly think NCIS has a special budget dedicated only to your jokes, Agent DiNozzo? Or maybe you thought computer equipments were free of charge? Your super-gluing keyboards cost more than $600 to this agency, money that could have been spent in a more useful way."

"Not to forget the possible consequences for Agent McGee's health," said Sewell severely. "Super Glue is a powerful adhesive and its fumes can irritate the sensitive membranes of the eyes, nose and throat. It can also cause allergic reactions on the skin, resulting in severe burns – this is why Super Glue is not to be used by children or grown-ups without an ounce of responsibility."

"For your information, Agent DiNozzo, this gluing episode was of the worst possible taste and a deplorable example."

"But…!"

"After 'hazing' and 'vandalism', we also have 'calumny'," continued Carter. "This time, it concerns the lies you've told about Agent McGee's sexuality to some employees working at the Legal Department. You declared that Agent McGee was a homosexual and that's a breach of NCIS' regulations… Could you give us the references, Agent Stephens?"

"Certainly. NCIS rules and regulations, section 4, rule 4.2-1: _"Discrimination of employees based on ethnicity, gender, sexual preferences, religion or nationality will not be tolerated at any time."_ Rule 4.2-2:_ "Defamation about an employee's sexual inclination will be considered as a violation of the said employee's rights and its author will be adequately reprimanded."_"

"It appears that Agent McGee is not a homosexual but he had been targeted as such by a group of gay-bashers, who happened to be friends or relatives of the women working at Legal. Two attempts against McGee have failed, and the third one would have succeeded if it had not been for the MPs' vigilance that night. Five men have been arrested and they quickly confessed their dark designs towards your co-worker; but one of them, more cowardly than the others, wanted to strike a deal and confessed that, after the failed second attempt, he and his gang decided to target another man as a consolation prize. They beat up a chemistry student who happened to bore a strong resemblance to Agent McGee… Here are the results."

Carter picked up photos from the table and held them up to show Tony, who blanched at the sight.

"As you can see, Agent DiNozzo, this student, Carl Simmons, was nearly killed by those gay-bashers. He had to undergo surgery twice so the doctors could save his right eye; his genitals had been damaged after this area had been repetitively kicked by his aggressors; he also suffered from cracked ribs, broken fingers and a severe concussion. Carl Simmons had to stay in a convalescent home for six months and his studies were suspended during this period. And he isn't gay, either – he was just the victim of a so-called friend who had thought it hilarious to say otherwise. A lie that had been whispered into the wrong ear… Just like for Agent McGee, who could have become another victim of this gang of gay-bashers."

"Could you give us an explanation about your transgression of NCIS' rules, Agent DiNozzo?" asked Sewell with a no-nonsense tone.

Tony was starting to feel very hot in the face, and his tie seemed to have tightened around his neck. He had seen his share of gruesome snapshots in his line of work, but Simmons had been almost disfigured by the blows and the wounds he had sustained. Worse, that poor student indeed resembled McGee as he were a few years ago: short-haired, light-skinned and a bit overweight.

"Look, er… I just… Well, I wanted to date this woman at Legal, but she and her colleagues were only talking about McGee, who was the new guy at the time. They kept on saying it would be nice to date a smart man for a change, and… I didn't want to lose my chances, so… I thought, if the girls thought McGee was gay, then they wouldn't waste their time with him and…"

Tony's explanation fell short as three pair of icy eyes stared directly at him. Charlie Chaplin was definitively roller-skating _way_ too close to the gap; a brush from a feather would be enough to knock him over.

"So you're saying your calumnies have been nothing but an attempt to remove a competition in the dating pool, regardless of consequences for Agent McGee or innocent passer-bys, Agent DiNozzo?" asked Carter incredulously.

Tony nodded, and then quickly added: "It was just a joke; I've never thought the ladies at Legal would make such a fuss about it and repeat my words to some narrow-minded friends of theirs. I've never wanted McGee or that student to be hurt!"

"I find that hard to believe, Agent DiNozzo, especially since we are reaching the fourth point on our list: disloyalty," said Carter. "You may proclaim be a trustworthy federal agent but a few contradictory matters have caught our attention and they all involve Agent McGee, once again. It is written here that your co-worker had been tazered twice within a day and both times, you laughed at him and didn't even bother to call for medical help, in spite of his blatant sufferings. In another case, Agent McGee was attacked by a dog and got badly bitten; however, it didn't stop you from playing a dog-barking CD on his own computer even though McGee was badly shaken from his ordeal. Also, you've forced an inexperienced McGee to walk through a minefield without proper equipment while you and Agent Todd remained behind, completely dismissing your colleague's safety. You mislead McGee about not volunteering for the mission in Iraq you've mentioned earlier, all this to get rid of a competition (once again) and make sure the mission would be granted to you. And we have dozens of incidents of the same sort, Agent DiNozzo. Is putting your co-worker in danger on purpose your idea of loyalty?"

"No, it was to toughen him up! McGee was frail like glass when Gibbs hired him. He couldn't do anything right and it was my job to show him the ropes."

"So he could hang himself with them afterwards?" asked a sardonic Stephens.

"NO! McGee is not like Todd, David, Gibbs or I. He never had police or military training and he would have become a liability out in the field without me. I did what I had to do to cure him of his infernal shyness and get the job done correctly; he could not pretend to be a federal agent while stuttering like an idiot!"

"And you, as Senior Agent, were the right man to educate McGee – provided he would survive, of course. But being trained by you is worth the risks of losing a leg in a minefield or to succumb to a heart attack, isn't it?"

"Look, lady…"

"It's _**Agent Carter**_ to you. Don't make me repeat this a third time!" retorted the blonde woman.

"But you don't understand! Hazing, practical jokes, it's all part of a long-time tradition," pleaded Tony. "It may look ridiculous on the outside but roughing up newcomers has been done in schools, universities, barracks and academies for centuries. I've been bullied during my teenage years at the Rhode Island Military Academy and, as you can see, it didn't stop me in making a career as a law enforcement officer."

"And does this excuse your behavior, Agent DiNozzo? The world has changed over the centuries; bullying is now considered as a serious offence and NCIS condemns this kind of thing in the strictest terms. Agent Stephens?"

"NCIS rules and regulations, section 2, rule 3.5-7: _"Hazing in any form against an NCIS employee is strictly prohibited; offenders will face retribution such as a suspension, a demotion or an immediate sacking including the drawing up of a criminal record, depending on the decision of a review board."_

Tony's face turned as white as his shirt. Suspension? Demotion? Sacking? No, they would not dare!

Agent Sewell looked at the young man seated at the other side of the room, and said: "It is too bad you've decided early in your career to follow Agent Gibbs' rules instead of NCIS', Agent DiNozzo. It is also a great shame that you respect only people above you while you hold subordinates and intellectuals in the utmost contempt, and you resort to treachery to reach your professional goals. And puerility is incompatible with the sense of responsibility expected from a Senior Agent. Your job is not to give newcomers a hard time but to guide their first steps with your experience, your expertise."

"But obviously, you feel swaggering around NCIS is more important than anything else," added Stephens. "You are so concerned someone younger and brighter than you will also become Senior Agent that you resort to dirty tricks to make sure it will never happen."

"But those dirty tricks you keep on calling 'jokes' can have terrible consequences on others: the undermining of Agent McGee's career, the beating up of Carl Simmons, not to forget the destruction of government's property and a detestable reputation for NCIS. This session is finished, Agent DiNozzo; we will see you again in a week and you'd better present valuable arguments to explain your attitude," concluded Agent Carter.

The image of a bowler hat and a cane disappearing into a gap formed inside Tony's brains.

TBC…


	29. An aggression

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- Naked!Tim but no graphic description, yu be warned ;o)

- In Greek mythology, Theseus is the founder-king of Athens and the slayer of the Minotaur, a half-man half-bull monster dwelling in the Cretian labyrinth.

- Details about the Modular Tactical Vest (MTV), Small Arms Protective Insert (SAPI) and Flame Resistant Organizational Gear (FROG) come from Wikipedia.

- To Guest, Readers4Feedback, Ollie260211, Earthdragon and None: thank you very much for your comments and suggestions!

- To From Russia with love: thank you!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 29: An aggression<strong>

_A few days later, at ISAF..._

It was the dead of the night, the base was calm but Sergeant Miller was feeling jubilant, just like the first time he had banged a girl without her consent.

He had been only a teenager then but the experience had been very satisfying – entrapping that ninny with a fake romantic rendezvous under the moonlight, screwing her on a bed of liquid manure and once the deed was done, reducing her to silence with the usual threat, _"Shut up or I'll kill your folks before slitting your throat wide open."_ Miller's parents, a couple of goody-two-shoes farmers, had been unaware of their son's evil nature before it had been too late: the mysterious disappearance of neighbors' cats and dogs, children with bloodied noses, the theft of money from the church's collection box, vandalism at school... Never Mr. and Mrs. Miller had suspected a thing. After all, they were raising Kenneth in the respect of God's laws, hard work and honesty; how could they have imagined their son was a delinquent beneath his 'normal boy' facade? How could they have known their Kenny considered his parents as losers, detested farming and compensated his innate mediocrity with a penchant for destruction?

Until eighteen-year-old Kenny had made a mistake: he had attacked Anita Rodriguez, a farmhand's daughter. He had wrongly thought Anita would be an easy catch – her parents were flat-broke, more-or-less illegal immigrants with too many hungry mouths to feed; the threat of a phone call to the Migra would have done the trick in subduing Anita... But the girl had hit Kenny with a log before running to the police station. Miller had fled the scene and went home but he had quickly realized his 'normal boy' days were over; that suspicious Sheriff had been waiting for an occasion to put him inside and Anita would grant him a golden opportunity to do so. Miller had barely the time to pack up his things and take the first bus for the nearest Marines recruitment center, but not before slapping his own mother across the face, hard, for having tried to stop him from leaving the house.

Later, in the safety of the boot camp, Miller had learned Anita's testimony alone had not sufficed in pressing charges, but all Hell had broken loose nonetheless: after hearing about the attempted rape on the Rodriguez bitch, all of Miller's past victims had stepped up and denounced his wrongdoings. He had received an outraged phone call from his old man, stating they had been shamed in front of the whole community and his mother was having a nervous breakdown from the scandal Kenny had caused. Miller had retorted they both could go to Hell for all he cared, and then he had hung up. His parents had never tried to contact him again.

Miller had made his way in the Marines, but a few annoying incidents involving brutalized recruits had prevented him from reaching the upper ranks. Instead, he had gotten stuck in this dead-end job at Logistics Support, supervising crates and doing paperwork while running a little black market business on the sideline. His superiors were wary of him, soldiers hated him and he had only a handful of supporters on his side; not that Miller had a high consideration for his 'buddies' but at least they were useful to warn him in case someone was doing some poking around.

But tonight, Sergeant Miller was going to give himself the royal treatment… He was going to play with Stephenson's boy-toy!

It had taken him weeks to make plan but he had finally come up with a fail-proof one; for days, he had spied on Lieutenant McGee and it had turned out that, after faking to work all day on his computer or the Hummer, the fag would either sleep in his private quarters or go to Stephenson's office for late 'private meetings' – Ah! Some meetings! But something interesting had come up: McGee would often take a shower at night after his sessions with Stephenson, probably in the hopes to wash away the old bastard's sperm from his hot hole. And it suited Miller: the showers were deserted at night and McGee would be alone, the perfect conditions to strike.

"_The boy-toy will sing higher than a soprano after I'm done with him," _thought the maniacally-grinning Sergeant._ "No doubts General Stephenson will cry his eyes out when he sees his lover torn to shreds at the hospital, making a perfect fool out of himself in front of the grunts. I really ought to bring a video camera to catch this moment and then post it anonymously over the Internet!"_

The Sergeant quietly walked down the corridors; years in the Marines had taught him to move stealthily (very practical when ambushing snot-nosed rookies) and to protect himself from eventual wounds. Not that Miller feared McGee would fight back – he was persuaded homosexuals always stayed paralyzed in fear during attacks – but the fag could scratch him like a vicious animal and the Sergeant's natural-born cowardice had prompted him to be prepared: he had broken down an MTV vest and taken out the Small Arms Protective Insert plates to wear them beneath his T-shirt to protect his front and back. He had also found a pair of thick gloves (no fingerprints allowed) and a sand-colored balaclava from a Flame Resistant Organizational Gear to wear on his face (no chance of being recognized by his future victim). A complete MTV vest would have been safer but it was too heavy for ambushing a man inside a base and a busybody could wonder why Sergeant Miller was dressed in combat gear in the quiet ISAF.

"_Ooh, I'm so going to mess up with your toy, Stephenson!"_

Miller had reached the sub-level where the open showers were. He made sure his combat knife was secured to his belt before entering the darkened rooms covered with white ceramic tiles, with that constant mixed smell of soap and disinfectant lingering in the air. The sound of splashing water confirmed his suspicions: someone was indulging in spite of the late hour, but Miller knew it would not last long. Military showers allowed users to get wet for about thirty seconds, and then the water was cut off during lathering just to be turned on again for a one-minute rinsing – reducing cleaning time to two minutes in an effort to save water.

Poking his head from behind a support beam, Miller casted a glance in the open showers area… and his smile got even wider. The guy scrubbing his dirt away under a shower head was indeed Lieutenant McGee.

Naked, sopping wet, oblivious to his surroundings… Simply perfect.

"_The fag is ready for the slaughter! It's too easy, I'd almost pity him!"_ thought Miller, his maniacal grin changing into a predatory grimace.

Miller approached his prey slowly from behind. He had brought a few 'presents' for the boy-toy – a length of rope to tie his wrists, brass knuckles for his ribs, a blunt spoon to scarify his back, even a small rubber mallet for his fingers and _cojones_ – but the Sergeant would have to strike with his knife first: one good slash at McGee's side and the fag would fall down like a tree, holding his wound to stop the blood from oozing out and completely defenseless; then, a good kick would efficiently fracture the young man's jaw, silencing him and leaving Miller all the time of the world to play with Stephenson's gigolo.

Besides, there was some poetic justice there: McGee had humiliated the Sergeant at Bagram with a knife so it was only fair that the queer should receive the first blow from a blade held by a real man!

One quick look around confirmed Miller that McGee was indeed alone and unharmed; there was nothing remarkable except for the crumpled uniform waiting on a wooden bench, with a pair of discarded combat boots tucked beneath. The only thing close to the Lieutenant was a towel resting on a tiled low wall, next to the shower head he was using. No SIG Sauer handgun in sight, which was logical since firearms and humid environment did not get along, and no blade either. McGee had probably thought he would be safe while taking a shower at this hour of the night and he would pay this false assumption dearly.

"_It's payday, you wimp!"_ thought Miller as he remembered the wrongs McGee had done to him: ridiculing him at Bagram, being the General's pet, pretending to be interested in Captain Wilkins...

But another glance at Tim's long silhouette made him hesitate for a few seconds: McGee was more muscular than the Sergeant had originally thought, contradicting his truism about homosexuals being frail or overweight. In fact, the Lieutenant did not have an ounce of fat on his body: that was odd, considering he was merely a pencil-pusher at Logistics Support and tinkering with a Humvee could not be considered as 'real work'. His skin lacked the whitish color of those scared by outdoors living. Tall, ripped and tanned by the Afghan sun, McGee could easily pass for a straight man – no wonder that imbecile Wilkins was making doe-eyes at him. Could he eventually oppose some resistance to his rightful punishment?

But Miller's arrogance quickly got back on top: McGee's muscles had probably been built in one of those gyms for sissies and they were no match for the bulk forged in the army. The tan was proof that the fag was spending hours sunbathing instead of working. Miller was of the short, sturdy side and resented with a passion every man better equipped than him – since they were numerous, he had come to hate a lot of people. McGee was a good head-and-a-half taller than Miller and he was well-proportioned. The Sergeant felt like choking on his vile bile as another grief was added to his mental list: the fake Lieutenant dared to be handsome and that was simply unforgivable.

"_You'll ban mirrors for the rest of your life after I'm through with you, gigolo!"_ thought Miller, his knife on the ready…

* * *

><p>Tim was rinsing the soap from his hair and eyes with a small sigh of relief; he had been working for forty-eight hours non-stop on the Watcher and he was simply exhausted, both physically and mentally.<p>

He had been looking for clues on his laptop by night, and then tried to apply them on the loaned Humvee by day while following the exercise sessions and chores routine at ISAF, and all this had been taking its toll on him. Sure, General Stephenson had told him to not neglect food and sleep – as stated in _"The Duckman's guide"_, too – but Tim had been in a frenzy to find a solution for The Watcher's casing, especially after a jeep had recently been heavily damaged by one of those mysterious landmines while returning from patrol. The casualties had been terrible: one soldier dead, two grievously wounded and the last one deaf for life. Aimee had told him all about it and Tim could not stop but feel a bit guilty; had he had found a solution for the casing earlier, maybe this tragedy could have been avoided.

He had been working so hard that Stephenson – probably warned by discreet and efficient Corporal Roberts – had summoned him to his office this evening to order him to get some rest. The General had brushed away his objections about the urgency of the situation and had jokingly threatened to lock him up at the brig without his laptop so Tim would have no other choices than to sleep. McGee had finally relented, sensing Stephenson was right and he did not have to feel guilty for things out of his control – a sentiment Gibbs used in abundance to put pressure on his teammates.

Tim had left Stephenson's office for a rest in his private quarters, but he had felt too dirty and wound up so he had opted for taking a shower before hitting the sack. The young man had made a habit to wash before bed, to relax his body and grant him a good night's sleep; and maybe, with a little luck, the shape of The Watcher's future casing would pop inside his brains while he dreamed.

McGee had been in the open showers for a moment, enjoying the quietness and the comfort of the room as the water massaged his tense muscles with millions of warm droplets. Facing the wall, he let the spray coming from the perforated nozzle located overhead to rinse his hair of the regulation-issued soap when…

… Suddenly…

… A soft sound was heard behind him.

Not the usual splash-like one expected while using a shower, too – more the kind of noise made by a boot stepping on water. Tim opened his eyes as his cop's instincts raised the alarm inside his head. He glanced downwards and saw a shadow moving on the ceramic tiles of the floor, right behind him.

Danger was near but Tim was nude and alone in a half-lit showers' room where no-one could come to his aid, a situation that could have made anybody feel panicky. However, McGee was far from being a coward and the image of a phoenix bird deploying its huge wings with a war-cry burned inside his mind, its sharp talons shining in a display of power.

Making a run for his clothes was out of the question so he took a deep breath instead, and faked to brush back his short hair with the palm of his right hand, while he extended his left arm towards the towel innocently resting on the tiled low wall…

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><p>The Sergeant would have laughed out loud; he could clearly see McGee's right hand resting on his head and it put Miller in a position of strength. It was as if the Lieutenant was begging to be stabbed on the side!<p>

"_Another hard lesson to learn, you queer," _thought Miller._ "Never let the enemy sees what your right hand is doing."_

He took another step closer, raised his blade…

Tim suddenly turned around and slashed the air with his left arm.

"**AGH!"** shouted Miller beneath his balaclava after a large cut was made into his right glove.

Gasping in surprise, he looked incredulously at the Lieutenant and his eyes widened even more at the sight of the black combat knife in McGee's hand.

"_Dammed! The faggot has a blade!"_

"Who are you?" asked Tim in a dangerously calm voice.

His aggressor was masked and with a weapon but obviously, he had not imagined that Tim would also be armed, even in the shower. The Dark Dove had been tucked inside the towel as the young man had never forgotten Ziva and Stephenson's advice about always keeping this knife close to him. McGee had also counted on the effect of surprise: fighters were unfamiliar with left-handed opponents since southpaws represented only ten percent of the world's population. The Dark Dove had sprung into his hand like of its own accord and Tim had drawn first blood.

Miller, for his part, was torn between outrage and fear as he thought: _"He cut me! He cut me! Goddammit, the faggot has cut me! Bastard! But where does this knife comes from? And, Hell! He's left-handed! I should have seen it, dammit! That long streak of piss has cut me!"_

The Sergeant was starting to feel nervous; his attack on McGee had had a bad start and, if he did not rectify the situation soon, he could suffer from damages and that was a revolting thought. Kenneth Miller could not be harmed by anybody, especially not a homosexual posing as an officer. His rage overcame the pain and he charged at McGee, his knife held high to strike his opponent right in the face…

But Tim dodged the blow and the Dark Dove lashed at its opponent with a metallic song of death and annihilation.

"ARRRH!" grunted Miller. The first strike had encountered only the air but the second one had hit home: another deep cut had been done, this time on his forearm, in spite of the blouse the Sergeant was wearing. Tim seized the opportunity to place a good kick in his enemy's abdomen, hurling Miller against the wall supporting the pipe work. One of the taps broke under the impact and a gush of hot water poured out of the shower head next to the one Tim had been using, filling the room's floor with an endless flow of hot liquid too abundant to be evacuated by the drains while steam filled the air.

Miller grunted in pain but he quickly forgot about his aching back to resume the combat. McGee was stark-naked for crying out loud, the most vulnerable state possible in a knife fight; he was not supposed to resist for long and yet, he had managed to hit the Sergeant twice!

"I said who are you? What do you want?" shouted Tim over the ruckus of the pouring water. His naked feet were aching from splashing into the hot liquid but he kept a straight face, the Dark Dove glittering from blood in his hand. A third party would have been amazed from the contrast made by Tim's fierce, bare beauty confronted to a faceless, bestial enemy in the heart of a labyrinth-like base, a modern version of Theseus and the Minotaur.

Miller pounced but Tim deflected the blow easily: his fully-dressed aggressor was getting soaked as well and it made his movements clumsy, whereas McGee did not have to worry about being hindered by clothing. However, the water had revealed the contours of SAPI plates the assailant was wearing under his T-shirt and the young man doubted even the Dark Dove could go through these. The armored enemy was also angrier, more experienced than he was in hand-to-hand combat and determined in killing him. Things did not bore well…

Miller lashed out and Tim dodged again.

The Dark Dove sang and Miller yelped again.

A traitorous remnant of soap on the floor caused Tim to lose his footing and he fell on the hard floor with a cry of surprise. Miller roared in joy at this sudden turn of events and he leaped at the young man with his blade ready for the _coup de grace_…

But Tim rolled over and the Dark Dove's blade was rammed into the Sergeant's inner thigh. Miller howled in pain and jumped backwards, his hand pressed against the wound while his victim was scrambling back to his feet.

"_Dammed! The little bastard! My leg, he cut my leg! Bastard! He could have cut my balls off!"_

"**WHO ARE YOU?"** shouted Tim, his green eyes shining in fury. This kind of cowardly attack revolted his chivalrous nature and ISAF was supposed to be a safe place, where he would have been able to work on The Watcher without looking over his shoulder and yet, an intruder had been able to infiltrate the base. He had to warn General Stephenson, at once!

As for Miller, he was desperately looking for a way out; the gashes he had sustained had made it impossible to use the rope or the brass knuckles or any of the other 'toys' he had in stock for the fag. His cowardice was screaming inside his brains, telling him to get out of this mess but McGee had proven to be skilled with a knife and, considering his combativeness, he would not let nudity to stop him from chasing after Miller all over ISAF. Only ruse could allow him to save his skin but he had to act quickly.

Miller suddenly held his hands up in the classical gesture of surrender

"Drop your knife!" shouted Tim.

The Sergeant obeyed at once and his weapon clanked on the floor; it had become useless since he could not use the blade or another weapon in his injured condition – but all he needed was for the Lieutenant to come closer…

"Turn back! Hands against the wall!" said Tim.

Miller did as he was told and then McGee seized his right wrist to twist his arm painfully behind his back.

"_Ouch! That little bastard is arresting me like a cop!"_ protested the Sergeant inwardly, but he only let out a muffled sound beneath the soaked balaclava he was wearing over his face.

"What did you say?" asked McGee, leaning to listen.

More mumbles followed and Tim got too close: the Sergeant head-butted him in a backwards motion, dazing the young man and causing him to let go of the suspect. Miller kicked like a mule and Tim stumbled against the opposite wall, giving his aggressor the opportunity to pick up his knife from the ground and run his way to freedom, ignoring the pain of his injured thigh. Within seconds, Miller had left the sub-level floor to run outside, towards a garage where he had set up one of his secret caches; he would find shelter there, and also rags to dress his wounds and a change of clothes.

Tim remained alone in the showers' room, leaning heavily against the wall to catch his breath. His heart was pounding inside his chest like a hammer and his mind reeled from what had just happened. The head-butt had not been hard enough to break his nose but his face was hurting all over and his left fist was still holding the Dark Dove in an iron-like grip. Ziva's present had been very useful, indeed, and he made a mental note to send her friend a Thank-you card –not like the one Gibbs and Tony suggested him to write after Kate's death – to express his gratitude. Without that weapon, his aggressor would have won the upper hand easily and God knew what abominations he had in stock for the young man. But who was this assailant? Certainly not a Taliban or the likes since the man was wearing military equipment – but the very idea of an American soldier attacking him was appalling!

Unfortunately, the blood from the Dark Dove's blade had been washed away by the pouring water so no DNA analysis could be done; Tim had not recognized the man under the balaclava he was wearing – it had acted like pantyhose deforming a bank robber's face while perpetrating a crime. As for the voice, the noise of the broken shower had muffled the sound and McGee was not sure he could identify it.

On top of everything, the suspect had managed to flee thanks to his stupidity; some investigator he was! Had Tim been in DC, Gibbs would have heaped insults on him for a month for having being fooled so easily while Tony laughed his ass off, stating loud and clear that Probie was definitively not cut for field work – not even in the showers. No doubts General Stephenson would be furious after him!

The contact of the hot water on his sole of his feet was getting impossible to endure as the flow created a burning wading pool in the showers, plus Tim was starting to suffocate from the steam. He roused himself from his torpor and quickly gathered his towel before stepping out of the shower. However, the cloth had fallen on the floor during the fight and it was also dripping wet, thus it did not help him much in getting dry.

Tim donned on his T-shirt and pants as best as he could, grabbed his boots and put the Dark Dove back into its sheath before exiting the showers' room, which was starting to look like the bath house of Hell. Stephenson **had** to learn about the attack and Tim would not hush up this incident out of fear for his future. If the General called him an incompetent and ordered him to go back to DC, so be it – but at least Stephenson would be warned about the intruder and he would take actions to increase the security of the people living at ISAF.

TBC…


	30. A protection

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- Stendhal (1783–1842) was a 19th-century French writer who popularized in France the expression _'The Happy Few'_ to design those who live their lives without fear, hatred or bitterness. It may also refer to the line "We few, we happy few, we band of brothers" of the play Henry V (1599) by William Shakespeare (1564–1616).

- To Earthdragon: I am glad to have set your imagination ablaze with a naked Tim! ;-) And I have appreciated your message to Yum2.

- To T'Seven: I hope you'll like this chapter as well!

- To Mr Danish Fan: it is also cold here in France so I sympathize to your plight.

- To From Russia with Love: the story will be written to the last chapter, no worries.

- To TimFan: thank you for supporting this story! I hope you will enjoy it 'til the end.

- To the kind Guests: thank you for your appreciations!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 30: A protection<strong>

Tim reached the Headquarters' offices at all speed, inwardly grateful for the fact that the place was deserted – even Roberts had turned in for the night; it spared him rounded eyes and anxious questions, or soldiers trying to stop him after mistaking him for a miscreant. He glanced at the door sporting the Head of Operations' name and relief washed over him as he saw a ray of light at the bottom of the wooden panel: Stephenson was still working; in fact, it was rumored around ISAF his workaholic nature was a smokescreen for insomnia but Aimee had once suggested the General avoided sleep out of fear of dreaming about his loved ones and have his heart broken, over and over again.

Due to the urgency of the situation, Tim imitated Gibbs' lack of manners for the first time of his life and barged in a superior's office without knocking.

"Sir..."

"Son!" exclaimed a startled General, sitting behind his cluttered desk. "What happened to you?"

McGee suddenly became conscious that he looked an absolute mess: hair still wet from the shower, humid T-shirt and pants clinging to his body, barefooted, holding his dripping towel and boots in one hand and the sheathed Dark Dove in the other, he would have been a poster child for the US Air Rescue Service. In normal circumstances, he would have been horrified to appear in such a bedraggled state in front of an officer but his recent brush with death had made him forget about everything else.

"I'm very sorry, Sir, but I have to report you that I've been attacked in the showers. It was..."

Tim did not have to time to pursue further: Stephenson had jumped on his feet like a demented jack-in-the-box and had seized the young man by the shoulders, worry written all over his face.

"Are you hurt, McGee?"

For a few seconds, Tim was too stunned to answer. He certainly had not expected this kind of question; in fact, he had never been on the receiving end of concern. Years of dealing with an inflexible Admiral and a brusque ex-Marine boss had taught him his health was an insignificant matter. Had they were present at ISAF, Robert McGee would have been concerned solely by security breach and Gibbs would have thought only about the ongoing case; neither man had ever bothered asking McGee about his well-being no matter how many times he had been hurt in the past, physically or emotionally.

"I-I'm all right, Sir."

"Your face tells otherwise, son!" said the General sternly, and Tim realized his nose and brow were indeed hurting a bit from the head-butt he had sustained in the showers. He appreciated the concern but his reason inwardly sighed that it would not last long: as soon as Tim would admit he had let his attacker go Stephenson would call him an incapable and send him back to DC in a snap.

"I'm okay but please, Sir, I need to tell you what happened."

"Have a seat, son."

Tim lowered himself in one of the chairs facing the large desk as Stephenson grabbed his phone and called the MPs for an immediate investigation in the showers' room; another call ordered Corporal Roberts to do a check-up on Lieutenant McGee's quarters to make sure the door had not been forced, followed by a report to his office as quickly as possible. During his conversation, he took out a roll of paper towels from one of his desk's drawers and tossed it at McGee, who used a few sheets to dry his hair, face, neck and feet; might as well gain a bit of dignity before his upcoming dismissal.

Tim tied on his boots before tucking the Dark Dove and the soaked towel under his seat; the used sheets of paper were crumpled and discreetly disposed of in a nearby wastebasket. Improving his looks calmed him a bit but deep down, he was still shaken by the attack and ashamed for having let the attacker slip from his fingers. God, he had acted like a green-as-grass rookie! Maybe Tony was right; maybe McGee was doomed to be a 'Probie' for the rest of his life. He had been fooling himself for years, wrongly thinking two degrees could compensate a terrible lack in military or police training; Gibbs had kept Tim away from the field because he was nothing but a computer tech with delusions of grandeur. He would never hold a candle to Ziva's efficiency or Tony's resourcefulness; he should have known better; travelling thousands of miles across the globe did not change anything; he should…

Stephenson slammed down the phone, unknowingly interrupting Tim's self-loathing, and then he leaned against his desk and looked at the young man straight in the eyes.

"Tell me what happened, without omitting any details."

Tim took a deep breath and narrated everything about the incident in the showers' room: his need to clean up before bed, the shadow behind him, the Dark Dove slashing through the steam-filled air; the masked and armored attacker, yelping in pain after the knife struck him thrice; his apparent surrender; Tim coming closer to listen to the man's mumbles before being knocked out, giving the intruder the opportunity to flee; and then, him running to warn Stephenson about the possible imperilment of the base.

The General kept an impassive face for the duration of the story, but inwardly he was seething. Someone had assaulted the kid; someone had dared to attack _this_ particular kid. Someone had made a mockery of ISAF's top-notch security to target the kid!

Stephenson felt like demolishing his office's walls with his bare hands until nothing was left but rumbles.

_Who? Who was behind this?!_

Then, McGee gave a full description of his aggressor: Caucasian, short stature, muscular, wearing SAPI plates under his clothes and in spite of the FROG balaclava hiding his face, Tim had noticed the intruder had pale eyes and dark eyebrows. The military clothing was a capital detail as it proved the intruder could not be a Taliban willing to sacrifice his own life to murder a US soldier inside a base, just to prove a point. Military equipment was severely accounted for and no MTV vest had ever been reported stolen or missing – not even after attacks had left casualties amongst the Marines. So the intruder had access to military-issued gear without raising suspicions, therefore it could only be someone from the US forces.

The very thought disgusted Stephenson, but he had too much experience in war or peace times to have an idyllist view of the enlisted men. The vast majority of them were good persons but there were always a few rotten apples in the batch: drunkards, traffickers or rapists… the kind of low-life scum who used the cover of a warzone to commit crimes with complete impunity.

_Could McGee have been the victim of a rape attempt?_

Stephenson glanced at the NCIS genius; it could be a possibility, since the handsome young man had been attacked in the showers, at a time when the place was empty. A voyeur could have seized the opportunity to ogle McGee's anatomy and then, liking the show, decided to satisfy his twisted needs for unwilling preys… Thanks goodness Tim was inseparable from his dangerous knife.

_Could it have been a foiled kidnapping?_

That was plausible too, considering Vance's warning a few weeks ago about the CIA's unhealthy attention towards Tim's presence in Afghanistan – not to forget possible interference from other branches of the US forces – but in that case, a kidnapper would not have acted alone. McGee was not a child easily subdued by threats or blows; he was a federal agent well-versed in dealing with dangerous situations and the recent incident proved he was quite able to defend himself. Kidnapping an adult usually involved several perpetrators and McGee was certain his aggressor had no accomplices. Besides, this kind of crime was related to money and Talibans had no interest in snatching away a pen-pushing Lieutenant – especially since they knew the US government never yielded to blackmail.

_Did it have a relation with The Watcher? Was McGee preyed upon because a spy had heard about this project?_

That was hardly possible since the only persons in on the secret were Stephenson, McGee, Roberts and Vance. The General was sure of Tim's discretion and the kid would not make the gross mistake to talk about The Watcher to anyone – including Captain Wilkins, during a conversation over coffee. Leon Vance's incorruptible reputation was solid as a rock. Roberts worshipped the General and would rather pour gas all over him and set it on fire than betray Stephenson's trust. But Vance's warning about rogue CIA agent Trent Kort was still fresh in the older man's mind.

_God, who was it? Who had targeted McGee and why?_

"… I'm very sorry, Sir," said Tim in conclusion, wishing the Earth would swallow him whole and spare him the shame to be chucked out of Afghanistan in disgrace.

Those soft-spoken words surprised Stephenson.

"Why are you sorry, son?"

"I failed in capturing the intruder, Sir. He got the best of me in spite of my training as a federal agent. I acted like a newbie and my failure could compromise The Watcher!"

Stephenson was taken aback by this declaration; McGee thought it was his fault if the aggressor had gotten away? But before he could protest, a knock was heard on the other side of the office's door.

"ENTER!" roared the General while a wave of his hand indicated Tim to remain seated.

The wood panel turned on its hinges and red-eyed Corporal Roberts entered the room before saluting Stephenson and standing to attention.

"Corporal Roberts reporting, Sir."

"What have you found, Roberts?"

"The MPs went the showers' room as ordered, Sir. In fact, the place was getting flooded and they had to stop the flow of hot water. They called maintenance for help but after the broken tap was temporarily fixed, they did an investigation and found nothing."

Tim made a small grimace; a group of MPs along with improvised plumbers had trampled all over the crime scene and potential evidence has been washed away, making it impossible to prove the intruder's presence. People coming and going with muddy boots in the showers' room probably have also erased the man's footprints in the staircase, eliminating all possibilities to follow a wet trail outside. Gibbs would have been scandalized!

"Have they checked the exteriors, Roberts?"

"Indeed, Sir, but they've found no traces of forced entry in the buildings or the garages. The sentinels on guard duty heard or saw nothing but the MPs sent cars to patrol the zone, as a precaution. I've personally checked on Lieutenant McGee's quarters and neither door nor lock has been damaged."

Stephenson would have ordered Roberts and the MPs to search every corner of ISAF until they found the intruder, but a discreet cough from Tim reminded him to be cautious: a thorough search of the base in the dead of the night would inevitably raise questions and there was no point in alarming troopers if the base was not under attack – not to mention their Afghan allies, who could be wondering what on Earth was happening at ISAF. A panic would draw unwanted attention from spies and impede the future tests of The Watcher hidden inside a Humvee, once McGee would have solved the difficult problem of the casing.

"The MPs are to keep on patrolling outside, Roberts. Tell them this is an alert exercise but they have to check every garage, shack, garbage can and arrest anyone who cannot give a valid reason for his or her whereabouts. Warn the doctors at the hospital wing that someone might ask for medical treatment for knife wounds. As for the guards at the gates, the base is closed until 6:00. And all this has to be handled **discreetly**, do you hear?"

"Yes, Sir!" said the Corporal, giving Tim a sidelong glance before saluting and leaving the office in a flash.

After the door shut behind Roberts, Stephenson turned about and looked at Tim with an expression as fierce as an eagle's.

"None of this is your fault, McGee."

"But, Sir…"

"But, nothing. You. Are. Not. To. Blame, and that's final! Did you think I'd be mad at you because the intruder escaped? _Son, you fought an enemy while butt-naked and alone! _You were in a situation that is a soldier's worst nightmare and you got out of it unscathed before raising the alarm, thinking more about the base's security than your own. That's quite an accomplishment coming from a civilian and Vance will hear a full report about it."

"Sir…"

"Son, right now you're blaming yourself for the intruder getting away but don't make me order you to open your ears and listen to me. You are persuaded you could have prevented the escape but I damn well know that's not true. No-one, not even a trained Marine, could have done better. Your aggressor had body armor, probably several weapons hiding under his jacket, he ambushed you from behind and he waited until you were alone to strike while you were standing on slippery grounds with nothing to protect you, well, except for a knife and yet, you've managed to get the upper hand on the enemy, wounding him three times and that, son, is a trump card up in our sleeve!"

"What do you mean, Sir?"

"Your aggressor will betray himself by needing medical treatment; you've cut him twice on the hand and forearm and these injuries can be easily explained by cutting oneself while training or working on the Humvees. But the inner thigh wound? That's no little scratch and it isn't the kind of injury that can be sewed back without any help, either. The guy who attacked you is obviously a coward as it doesn't need a lot of courage to ambush a man in the showers, so he's probably very concerned about infection and gangrene; the fear of losing a leg will lead our man to go to the hospital under false pretexts and we'll catch him there."

"Oh my God, Aimee!" exclaimed Tim, just before remembering where he was. "I mean, Captain Wilkins… Maybe the intruder will coerce her to treat his injuries!"

"I sincerely doubt anyone can coerce Captain Wilkins to do whatever she doesn't want to do, son," answered Stephenson with a half-smile. Tim's face had gotten an extra shade of red and it was not due to his bruised face. "Believe me, she can hold her own and she's no fool. Roberts must be warning the doctors on duty as we speak and Captain Wilkins will learn about what had happened even before the exercise sessions. She sleeps at the hospital wing so there's no chances an enemy could kidnap her, this building is too well-protected."

Tim let out a small sigh of relief at the thought Aimee was safe. He knew she could defend herself – especially against Sergeant Miller – but he would be devastated if anything should happen to her.

"We will catch this man, son," said the General firmly, turning his back to McGee to shuffle some papers on his desk. "I cannot put ISAF on lock-up because it would start an official investigation, inevitably snowballing with me being forced to give out information about you. The Finance Corps don't know about you 'borrowing' a uniform bearing their insignia and their officers would be very surprised learning a supposedly Lieutenant is working on a cooperation project with local builders than nobody has heard of. I hate to say this but The Watcher obliges us to be very discreet; but you have my word we will catch your aggressor."

"Thank you, Sir," said Tim. The adrenaline rush was wearing down and he was starting to feel very tired from the lack of sleep and the stress. "Do you have any idea who is behind all this?"

"Not yet, but we can already eliminate the Talibans. Attacking a lone man at knifepoint is not their style; they'd rather use explosives to make the maximum of victims and gain media coverage for their cause. I doubt this aggression was against the base, son; in fact, I'm ready to bet **you** were the primary target."

Tim repressed a shudder; even if Stephenson had told him he was coveted by other branches of the US forces, he still had a hard time believing it.

"I'll warn Director Vance about this incident and we will both make enquiries to see if another department has decided to do some poking around, or if a rogue has wanted to kidnap you to extort information about your presence at ISAF."

"You're thinking about… Kort?" asked Tim while stifling a yawn.

"Him or somebody else, God knows there are rogue agents everywhere, not only at the CIA," said Stephenson. "You were wise to pay heed to my advice about being armed at all times and I do insist you keep on a low profile, talk to no one except Roberts, Wilkins and me and refrain from taking night showers. Once The Watcher's casing will be ready, you'll run test trials aboard a Humwee and with an escort of men I'll handpick myself but before that, I am renewing my orders for you to say on ISAF grounds. Is that clear, McGee?"

Only silence answered him and Stephenson turned about, surprised by such a reaction from the polite young man. But the General almost busted out in laughter after realizing McGee had fallen asleep on his chair, completely worn out by the recent events and forty-eight hours of non-stop work: no wonder the poor kid had crashed.

But the older man's expression turned serious as he remembered the night's close call; McGee could have been severely injured, even tortured in the shadows of the showers' room and nobody would have realized what was happening before it had been too late. Vance would have been outraged hearing his agent had been hurt on Stephenson's watch, in spite of repeated reassurances that the young man would be safe in Afghanistan; the NCIS Director would have asked for McGee's immediate repatriation, Watcher or not, and the project would have gone down the drain.

The General could not blame Vance for being protective of this young man; he had been quite amazed by McGee's intelligence, hard-working nature and discretion, succeeding beyond Stephenson's expectations in blending into ISAF's walls to the perfection. According to Roberts, the vague movement of interest towards Tim by the enlisted men had died very quickly after they had realized this particular Lieutenant would not order them around. Officers had quickly dismissed the young man as an accountant unworthy of interest, dealing with numbers all day along; even the worst troublemakers, like Jackson the cook, had not been able to find anything to say about Lieutenant McGee as he was apparently too bland and too boring.

Stephenson frowned at the sight of the still-humid T-shirt and pants Tim was wearing; the poor kid had probably dressed on his way to the General's office and, judging from the puddle of water coming from the discarded towel on the floor, he had not had a chance to dry before donning enough clothes to be decent. Stephenson unhooked his coat from a hanger fixed on the wall and draped the cloth on the kid, to protect him from the night's chill. Tim sighed from the added warmth, but remained asleep.

The General's heart melted, even if his expression remained neutral. Gosh, the kid reminded him so much of his Christopher! Both of them were brilliant, dedicated, and so damn intelligent. To think someone had attacked McGee… well, whoever the perpetrator was, he had managed to bring on his head the wrath of Stephenson as the Head of Operations in Afghanistan would attend to the matter personally and once he would be finished with the guilty party… Well, there would not be enough remains left to tell a story.

But Alexander Stephenson had not risen to the top by taking decisions in the heat of the moment; he wanted to know his enemy before destroying it and he had only mentioned two possibilities to McGee for explaining the aggression, namely the intruder could be an envoy from a rival branch or a rogue or an undercover agent wanting to know more about The Watcher. But there was a third option, a hideous one… The attack could have been an inside job; McGee could have been targeted by a sexual predator. The kid may not have a high sense of self-worth but he was intelligent and an experienced federal agent, to boot: he had seen too many murders to remain oblivious of the horrors that happened in the world, regardless of his sunny disposition making him see the world with new eyes, every morning.

Tim shifted slightly beneath the coat and one of his feet bumped against the Dark Dove lying on the floor. Stephenson, seated on his desk, glanced at the weapon and had a bitter smile: the kid may be one of the 'Happy Few' but he was also prudent, probably due to the fact too many people had abused his good nature in the past. It had been the same thing with Christopher: his son had been targeted by bullies because of his intelligence, but also by profiteers who had faked friendship to get his help with coursework before tossing him aside like an empty can once school year was over. Chris had not said a word about this to his parents as Clara's cancer monopolized their attention, but Stephenson had learned the truth right after his son's graduating high school. The boy had begged him to not do anything that would upset his mother but after Clara had died, the General had made a few phone calls: afterwards, most bullies and parasites had bitterly regretted having messed with young Stephenson.

The Dark Dove's blade got partially out of the leather sheath and it gleamed under the office's light. The General nodded his head; yes, they had to keep their weapons sharp and their intellects even sharper for The Watcher to become a reality. The future was as somber as this blade but Stephenson knew one thing: no matter what could happen, he would not let any harm to befall on McGee.

"_Whoever has attacked the kid in the showers' room will pay for it with his life, and to Hell with consequences. I've already lost a son and I won't lose another one from a predator, a spy or a rogue, not as long as I can draw breath. McGee is under **my** protection!"_

The General glanced at the clock: 1:30 a.m., meaning it was about 3:30 p.m. in DC. Vance would probably be at his office, buried in paperwork and grumbling at his agents. A little improvised MTAC conference would probably do the trick in getting the Director out of his office, even if it would not improve his mood to the latest.

Stephenson got on his feet and brushed a small lock of hair from Tim's forehead before silently opening his door; as on cue, Corporal Roberts was walking down the corridor, heading to his superior officer's office after having carried out the orders.

"Everything has been done, Roberts?"

"Yes, Sir. The MPs are patrolling but the base has remained quiet. The showers' room is still under repairs, though and it's unlikely it would be fixed before the troopers do the morning exercise sessions, in a few hours."

"Never mind that!" retorted the General with a bit of impatience. "I'm going to the video conference room for a little chat with Vance. McGee is currently sleeping in my office and you are on guard duty until I come back. No one is to enter in my office before I return, do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir! But should I do if Lieutenant McGee wakes up before you come back?" asked the Corporal.

"Offer him coffee, talk to him, but by no means let him leave my office. This is a dangerous situation, Roberts. Discretion prevents us from making a full investigation and so far, we don't know if this attack is an inside job or the work of a spy. Until I can get some information from Vance, McGee's in peril and he cannot remain alone. Hopefully the perpetrator will be betrayed by his wounds and we'll be able to get the bottom of this but in the meantime, stay here!"

"Yes, Sir!" said Roberts firmly. He was as involved in The Watcher' project as Stephenson and he liked McGee. A sleepless night was a small price to pay to keep the 'special civilian' safe.

Stephenson squeezed Roberts' shoulder before leaving for the conference room. The office's door had been left ajar and the Corporal took a peek inside: McGee was indeed sprawled in one of the chairs, out like a light, covered with a coat. So far, so good as Roberts was not looking forward to tell the young man that he had to remain in the General's office for the duration of the video conference… which could last for hours.

Roberts silently closed the door, and then he picked up a chair and started his guard duty.

TBC….


	31. An altercation

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- A big 'thank you' to byrhthelm for the help.

- The Krakatoa volcanoes erupted in 1883, killing at least 36,417 people; two-thirds of the Krakatoa Island near Indonesia was destroyed in the blast (from Wikipedia).

- To Nones, Guests, and Reviewer: thank you for your messages!

- To Earthdragon: there will be other visions of a hot and steamy Tim in further chapters! ;o)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 31: An altercation<strong>

Leon Vance had a face carved in granite and he fixed with hard, obsidian-like eyes the image of General Stephenson showed on one of the MTAC screens. A toothpick was buried between his teeth like a war hatchet stuck on the ground as he listened to Stephenson reporting about the recent attack against McGee in the showers.

"I presume you've taken all precautions to ensure McGee's safety?" asked the NCIS Director (icy voice).

Stephenson mentally sighed; he had assumed Vance would not take the attempt on his man lightly but this cold rage was not helping.

"McGee is currently resting in my office, under close surveillance. I have assigned my best man as his bodyguard; you can be certain nothing will happen to him."

"Considering the latest incident, I sincerely doubt that, General," retorted Vance (freezing voice).

"Vance, you can't seriously believe I would deliberately put McGee in danger!"

"Then how can you possibly explain this attack, General?" (Arctic voice).

Stephenson sighed outwardly this time, and said: "All possibilities are considered for the moment, Vance. I've interrogated McGee and he gave a full description of his aggressor: male, Caucasian, dark-haired, wearing a balaclava and SAPI plates. The logical conclusion would be to consider the attacker as a man from this base but..."

"But, like every high-ranking officer, you'd rather point the finger at someone from the outside than admitting you have a rat in the house. **GODDAMNIT**!" roared the Director, changing from Jack Frost into the eruption of the Krakatoa volcanoesin less than three seconds. Samuel Wilson, MTAC tech and the only other person in the room, jumped on his seat out of fright and Stephenson repressed the urge to cover his ears from the shout's violence.

"Vance, don't jump to conclusions..."

"**It's hard to believe that even in ISAF, people cannot take showers without being assaulted. Whatever happened to surveillance? I expected better behavior from the men under your command!"**

"Vance, we are working as fast as we can to find the culprit!" protested Stephenson.

"**Oh, really? Then, who is he, pray tell?** Someone sent by the enemy? They don't have the reputation to target bathers. A kidnapping attempt from the CIA? Even they know better than to attack federal agents single-handedly, including the inoffensive-looking ones. Same thing with the other branches of the US forces: they'd sniff around and be a total nuisance with their bothersome curiosity, but snatching away a computer tech without his clothes would be pretty stupid – especially without being certain the said man is actually working on a secret project or not. Besides, you've told me weeks ago that McGee hasn't left ISAF since his arrival and he's way too smart to go over the wall for a tour of 'Kabul by night'. So let's face it, General: someone in your base has a grudge against McGee!"

"McGee hasn't talked to anyone around the base since his arrival, apart from me and two persons I have the most absolute trust in: my _aide-de-camp_ and an army doctor. According to Roberts, my _aide-de-camp_, McGee's arrival at ISAF raised a few questions but the interest died before it could even form. Officers have dismissed him as a mere pencil-pusher and the enlisted men don't look at him since McGee is unlikely to give them orders," said Stephenson, sincerely convinced nobody had showed unhealthy interest towards Tim.

Well, of course there had been Miller and his less-than-welcoming attitude at Bagram, but Stephenson had dismissed the idea of the Sergeant having a grudge important enough to attack a senior officer. Miller was a loudmouthed coward who would not have enough balls to ambush a rabbit in the desert...

"Your man did a marvelous job in remaining unnoticed around the base and he didn't even raise an eyebrow to the very few snide remarks he got in the way. He's good in his undercover job, damn good and his _alter ego_ doesn't lack of good sense and sang-froid."

"**Of course, he's good!" **roared Vance.** "Did you think I would send you a harebrained idiot for your project?"**

"No, Vance!" shot Stephenson back. "I was just saying that McGee is playing his role to the perfection as a bland, dull accountant. So, my best guess?"

"By all means," growled 'Lion' Vance.

Stephenson swallowed with difficulty; he had been thinking hard about the whole matter after he had left a sleeping Tim in his office, and he had drawn conclusions that did not bore well at-all but it was useless to ignore them:

"Since it is highly unlikely the enemy had infiltrated the base, as well as spies or rogues from others branches of the US forces, and the attack happened in the showers… I hate to say it but it could be the work of a sexual predator wrongly thinking McGee would be an easy prey."

Vance was literally foaming at the mouth and the MTAC computer tech felt his workplace had turned into a lion's den.

"Sent McGee back to DC. I'm calling this mission off!"

"WHAT? You can't be serious!" exclaimed Stephenson, genuinely shocked. "Do you have any idea of the value of the project he's working on?"

"I am perfectly aware of it, General, but I happen to value my agent's life first. I won't have him sacrificed for 'the greater good' or simply because you are incapable to discern the degenerates amongst your men. McGee won't fall victim of your negligence, do you hear me!"

"Vance! I value McGee, and not only for The Watcher project! He's a good man; he's capable, diligent and incredibly smart. Gosh, if I had a dozen more like him, we would have ended the war years ago! And you think I would sabotage our chances to get a fantastic leverage over our enemy by overlooking the tiny matter of McGee's security? Nothing doing! I'm not the kind of officer who is blinded by glory or personal fame. Besides, you can't ask for McGee's return right now: he is **this** close," said the General while making a tiny space between his thumb and index finger, "to finalize The Watcher's casing. He's your agent and all but for the love of God! Don't throw everything away by wrongly assuming I don't take his security to heart!"

"McGee told you he's tying up loose ends?" asked Vance, his eyes widening at the thought of Tim blooming so nicely under the Afghani sun.

"He didn't have to tell me; he's about to succeed, I saw it in his eyes. He had experienced difficulties with the casing's design but he had worked relentlessly on it for days and, given his brains, it's only a matter of days before we can start running tests on The Watcher set up inside vehicles. Call it a gut feeling if you like, but I know the kid will make it anytime now."

Vance snorted like a buffalo, thinking some leaders' guts were far too talkative for his tastes but Stephenson had a point; he had no reasons to lie about The Watcher coming to fruition since this project was way too important for the troopers' safety. And McGee was way too conscientious – and too courageous – to be scared away by a lone enemy, no matter how disgusting the motives for the attack could be. The young man would be appalled to be called back to DC when he was so close to wrap up The Watcher's project; in fact, Tim would be downright furious and Vance certainly would not blame him.

"Look, Vance," said the General. "McGee managed to injure his aggressor three times: two slashes on the arm and, most importantly, a deep cut on the inner thigh and that's no little wounding. It could have severed the assailant's femoral artery or long saphenous vein and, even if we couldn't find a blood trail leaving the showers' room, there is a good chance the assailant will try to find medical help; under this hot climate, wounds not properly looked after have a high chance to develop infection at best, gangrene at worst. The intruder will betray himself sooner or later, no matter what kind of tall tales he'd give the medical staff to explain his wounds – and the doctor McGee has befriended will be more than happy to report _any_ demand of treatments for cuts. We will find the perpetrator, Vance, you can be sure of this."

Vance's face remained impassible, but deep down he felt a spark of pride at the news of the kid managing to overpower an enemy while alone and vulnerable. To think Gibbs had ignored Tim's fighting abilities for years… Wonder what the Old Dragon would say after hearing the shunned young man had proved to be more resourceful than DiNozzo?

"And what do you exactly plan to do to the guilty party afterwards?" asked the NCIS Director.

Stephenson's eyes turned as hard as Vance's.

"That's for me to know and you to never find out."

A long moment of silence followed and Sam Wilson watched in amazement at the alpha males locking horns, even with thousands of miles and a TV screen separating them. The MTAC tech was starting to believe the two men had taken roots on their allocated spots when Vance finally muttered:

"You'd better make sure McGee stays alive and well, Stephenson. If I ever hear he has been violated, I'll have your head."

"It won't happen!" retorted the General firmly. "McGee has proven he can defend himself and, even if I cannot assign him a bodyguard for evident reasons, it won't prevent me from increasing surveillance all over the base – I'll tell the officers we have received threats from terrorists to explain the MPs patrolling inside and outside ISAF. The hospital staff is on the alert, McGee will remain indoors at all times and he has his own, secure private quarters. Any soldier unable to explain his comings and goings will be severely sanctioned. We will get the perpetrator, Vance!"

"I want to speak to McGee."

"Right now, he's in my office, under the strict orders to no come out before my return. I want to be sure the base's secure before letting him go. My _aide-de-camp_ will make sure he remains safe until the alert is lifted."

"Nonetheless…"

"You will speak to him on Friday, as usual. But please believe me when I tell you the kid is safe and sound as we speak."

Vance was a man who normally trusted only his eyes, but he also knew the discretion surrounding The Watcher prevailed above everything: dragging McGee in front of a camera while the base was on alert would raise too many questions that even the General's protection could not avoid. The Director hated this situation but alas, personal feelings were often overlooked during undercover assignments, for the sake of the mission and also the persons involved.

The toothpick in his mouth nearly broke under the jaw pressure as Vance said:

"I gave you the brightest man of _**my**_ agency to help with _**your**_ project, Stephenson. Do not make me regret my decision, otherwise there will be Hell to pay and not even a war zone will be enough to stop me."

"Vance, give it a rest. Both of us have motivation to keep McGee in good health, don't you think so? The kid will soon set up The Watcher on our vehicles and he'll run his tests with four soldiers, all loaded for bear, that I will chose myself. I will draw the route and give it to McGee in a sealed envelope, so neither he nor his escort would know the itinerary in advance – even _my aide-de-camp_ won't be in the confidence. McGee will come back to NCIS on his own two feet, I promise."

"You'd better keep on this promise, General!" concluded Vance firmly, before cutting the communication off. Stephenson's face was replaced by a rainbow-colored screen and the Director scowled at Wilson.

"You'd better forget about this conversation, Sam."

The MTAC tech looked at his superior with wide, innocent eyes.

"What conversation, Sir?"

"Good man."

Vance discreetly took out the toothpick from his mouth to put it in his pants' pocket: the wood had definitively cracked and the Director remembered too vividly having splinters in his gums during his impromptu trip to Base Andrews. He raised his hand to type his PIN code on the electronic lock but before he could do it, the door slid open of its own accord, revealing a very pissed off Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

"**WHAT'S WRONG WITH McGEE?"** yelled the Team Leader.

"Oh, _that _conversation," whispered Sam.

"Gibbs, what the Hell do you think you're doing? Isn't it enough that you barge in my office whenever you like?" roared the Director back. After the bad news Stephenson had told him, he really was not in the mood to deal with an angry Gibbs.

"Cut the crap, Leon! You've been in MTAC for half an hour and today's Wednesday, so this wasn't your usual meeting with the kid. What happened out there? Is he wounded?"

"What's it to you? You didn't give a damn about McGee's health when he was around so now's a little too late to show concern."

"LEON!"

"Gibbs. My office. Now," said the Director, and without further ado he typed his PIN number and got out of MTAC without a backward glance.

The silver-haired man stayed rooted on the spot, so furious he looked ready to tore the screens off the walls and break them into a million pieces each. Then he glared at Sam Wilson, curled up on his seat and staring at him with rounded eyes, before barking:

"What are you looking at?"

The young man could not pretend to be an athlete or a sharp shooter; however, he was not a coward, so he glared back and answered calmly:

"I'm looking at someone who prefers dogs to computer technicians."

Gibbs thought it would be safer to leave the MTAC room before committing murder.

* * *

><p>A few minutes later, Gibbs was in his superior's office, looking daggers at Vance who seemed equally resolute in having a little clarification time with his most troublemaking Team Leader. In spite of appearances, Vance understood Gibbs' concern over McGee but discussing the matter in front of a witness was out of the question. Sam Wilson had an impeccable record but the secrecy caused by The Watcher's importance had forced him to improvise a little theatrical exit from the MTAC room.<p>

"Leon…"

"Sit down and shut up, Gibbs. I know you're concerned about the kid but I couldn't talk in front of Wilson or anybody else for that matter. The project he's working on requires an absolute discretion from either part of the Atlantic Ocean; all I can tell you is McGee's fine, and I insist on the word 'fine'. He ran into a bit of trouble at ISAF but he managed to get out of it without a scratch on him so calm down!"

"What kind of trouble?"

"He was attacked but he managed to fend off his aggressor – the kid is way more resourceful than he looks, in spite of the little field experience you've let him acquire during his years at NCIS," said Vance severely. He still had not gotten over the fact that Gibbs would systematically send DiNozzo or David to the front lines whereas McGee had to stay behind, relegated to the role of electronic eyes and ears. "So now, kindly get out of my office and stop making scandals in this agency, before I have to remind you DiNozzo's second round with the review board is coming up, with your first following shortly after. What's more, you should be downstairs and rehearse with your protégé instead of ambushing me at the MTAC room!"

Gibbs clenched his jaw at the recollection of him and Tony not being exactly on speaking terms those days. In fact, since his outburst where he had shouted all over the bullpen that promoting DiNozzo may have been a mistake, the Senior Agent had remained sullen and uncommunicative. Ziva was doing her best to keep Tony's spirits up but she could not replace the Team Leader; Ducky had also given the young man good advice but Jimmy had stubbornly remained in the morgue, a silent reproach directed to the team for Tim's absence. Tony had tried to scoff at the Autopsy Gremlin's no-show and Gibbs' lack of support but his usual bravado sounded hollow, even to the most inexperienced NCIS agents. In fact, the rumor mill was buzzing about DiNozzo becoming a shell of his former self but Gibbs had been too preoccupied about Tim being abroad to take any notice of Tony's growing discomfort. Even his evenings had been solely dedicated in building a bookcase in his basement and the Team Leader had already decided Tim's framed photo would stand at the place of honor, on the top shelf.

"Leon, I insist on you letting me speak to McGee on the next MTAC session."

"Gibbs…" started to grumble the Director, but the Team Leader cut him off.

"I know you still think I only want to shout at the kid so I've brought you this, as proof of good faith."

He took out an unsealed envelope from the inside pocket of his jacket and handed it over to Vance, who thought for a second that it was Gibbs' resignation but he quickly brushed off the idea; the Team Leader was not the kind to run when things got too hot to handle and he was not the kind to be scared by a review board.

"It's an open letter I've written to Tim; read it and after, you'll decide if I've earned the right to talk with the kid."

"All right, Gibbs, I'll take a look at it but in the meantime, you go downstairs and keep working. One other good thing to do would be to have a talk with your Senior Agent: considering the state he is, he's bound to do another one of his trademark stupidities and we don't need this at NCIS for the moment, we're under enough scrutiny those days! You're dismissed."

The silver-haired man left the office without adding another word, and Vance waited a few minutes before lifting a flap on the reverse side of the envelope, and taking out a sheet of paper folded in four. He opened it and read:

"_My dearest Tim,_

_You've been gone for almost two months now, and I've been missing you like crazy since day one. You probably never thought receiving a letter from me but I've been kicking myself for not having talked to you before you left. Well, I did try to talk to you before you went but I got delayed on the way. Vance will tell you the details about my lateness, if you're ever interested to know._

_Frankly, I wouldn't blame you if you don't want to hear anything from me anymore. I've been a lousy boss and an even lousiest teacher; I was hell-bent on leading the best team of NCIS that I have neglected basic needs like granting you encouragements and concern. I honestly thought Marine-like training was the only way to learn and it was a stupid move from my part: NCIS isn't boot camp and three-quarters of its employees are civilians, unused to rudeness and permanent hazing. _

_Yeah, there's that, too. I can't tell you how sorry I am to have let Tony, Kate and Ziva play mean pranks on you for years. I really thought it was harmless fun good to de-stress from the horrors we see every day, but your argument with Tony in the conference room showed me the errors of my ways. You got fed up with his stupid jokes at your expense and I should have put an end to it years ago; all I can say in my defense is I assumed Tony's hazing didn't affected you since you barely reacted. The more fool me to not have understood your silence only came from your patience, but it has its limits like everything else! _

_Tony went too far, too many times and his disregard towards you reached its peak when he tricked you into not going to Iraq. I head-slapped him hard on his return but of course, the idea of apologizing never crossed his mind. Why would he, after I've told you guys a thousand times over that it was a sign of weakness? Well, Tony would rather be devoured alive than admitting he could be wrong – and so do I, but I've been an imbecile. Ducky told me once that pride was my weakness. Guess Tony and I are a pair of weaklings while you are a lion-heart, Tim. No matter how much crap you've received from your teammates and your boss (the very people who are supposed to have your six anytime!), you never gave up and you became one of the finest agents of NCIS._

_You've read correctly, Tim: I do consider you as an excellent agent. I told you so before leaving for Mexico and I was sincere. You may not think I was, but it's true. Of course, I had to make a mess of this special moment, mumbling a few words of praise just before fleeing the agency, but what can I say? I'm a fool, and can only be a butterfingers._

_Speaking of fools… Ducky (him again) told me you thought of yourself as the Jester of my court while Tony, Ziva, Ducky, Abby and Jimmy were showered with titles and praise. Oh, Tim, do you really think I have no respect for you? For your intelligence, your honesty, your hard work? Kid, you have so many brain cells inside your skull, it put us all to shame; any other genius in your stead would hold humanity in the utmost contempt but you remained polite and compassionate, another mark of your superiority over your fellow human beings. You're far better than the rest of us and, if I hadn't been an idiot, I would have made you feel welcome in my team instead of letting Tony play his ridiculous hazing game on you._

_There's also the matter of Abby. She proudly wears her status of 'favorite' like a badge on her T-shirt and that's my entire fault; she took advantage of you and disregarded orders without a second thought, even if she damn well knew it would put you in trouble, and I've never reprimanded her, not once! What in the world kind of a Team Leader I am? Well, I'll tell you: a blind old fool one. I've been imagining Abby as a grown-up Kelly and she thought it would grant her total immunity for her whims, regardless of consequences. T__he first case coming to my mind is the one involving Jethro the dog; people at NCIS have been scandalized by her attitude, but even more by my indifference towards your wounds. Other Team Leaders have protested to Jenny Sheppard, stating my attitude was unworthy of a person in charge and I should have been revoked. With hindsight, I have to admit they were right; I gave a poor image of leadership and it has been a miracle you kept on working with me after this hellish day. Any other guy would have hurled his badge at my head before punching the lights out of me but you remained at your post, ready to do your job, like the courageous soldier you are._

_Tim, this is probably the worst-written letter you'll ever receive but I'm not a literary man so I'm doing the best as I can. Your departure has torn away the blindfold I've been wearing and the sunlight blinded me for awhile, but now I can see clearly for the first time in years. It's hard to admit having wronged you so much you'd rather work in a warzone rather than face your teammates, and it's my greatest failure. All I ask for is a chance to make it up to you but for that, you have to come home once your special project is finished. Do you think there is one last bit of compassion remaining inside you to grant a stupid old fool this favor? A wise old lady recently told me: _"Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in getting up every time we do." _Well, I have fallen… HARD, and my only hope in picking myself up lays in your return._

_You are not a mere tool, and God knows you're not a court jester or a whipping boy. Tim, I consider you the same as Tony. I've been a complete flop at showing it and my clumsiness has chased you away, as you thought I had no respect you but, for the first time of your life, you drew the wrong conclusions. I do respect you, Tim, more than you can ever imagine. When you're back, I'll show it to you and to Hell with the rest of the world. _

_Vance is tight-lipped about your activities in Afghanistan but he's glowing with pride every Friday, right after stepping out of the MTAC room so I know you've been keeping them on their toes. I know I don't have the right, but I cannot help but feel prideful too. That's my boy, working wonders wherever he is!_

_Ducky (yep, him again!) told me he gave you tons of recommendations about surviving in Afghanistan and I can't thank the old buzzard enough for this. Just keep his sound advice in mind, follow the instructions of General What's-his-name to the letter and you'll be home before you ever realize it. I don't know a thing about this General but Vance trusts him and it's good enough for me. Leon and I have our disagreements but he's not a fool, unlike me._

_Tim, please come back soon. I'll understand if you refuse to grant me a second chance but the most important thing for me is to see you back at NCIS, alive and well, with a well-deserved bright future ahead of you._

_(Signed)_

_Leroy Jethro Gibbs_

_a.k.a. the Old Fool"_

Vance shook his head sadly, and then he folded the letter and put it back inside the envelope, before slipping the lot inside a folder containing his notes for his next video conference with Tim McGee.

TBC…


	32. A clarification

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

_- Alien_ (1979) is a science-fiction horror film directed by Sir Ridley Scott (b. 1937).

- Freddy Krueger is the main antagonist of the _A Nightmare on Elm Street_ film series (1984-2003); Jason Voorhees is a fictional character from the _Friday the 13th_ film series (1980-2009). Nurse Ratched, played by Louise Fletcher, was the arch-enemy of Jack Nicholson in the film _One flew over the cuckoo's nes_t (1962).

- To Earthdragon: Tony and Gibbs will talk in this chapter! ;o)

- To Guests: thank you for your reviews!

- To MillieMax: I'm glad you're enjoying this story so much.

- To From Russia with Love: stay tuned for the next new episode!

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><p><strong>Chapter 32: A clarification<strong>

Tim McGee was jolted awake, his dreams suddenly interrupted by a resurgence of stress coming from of the recent events. His green eyes opened and he scanned his surroundings, quickly recognizing Stephenson's office and the young man wondered for a second why the General was not present. Then, he remembered the attack in the showers' room, him reporting at all haste, and how Stephenson's gentle and firm attitude had calmed down his worries before ordering Roberts to start searching for the intruder...

Tim realized he had fallen asleep in the middle of his conversation with Stephenson, but strangely his old insecurities failed to resurface; in fact, they seemed to have disappeared and it was an unusual feeling to not be ashamed or embarrassed for his recent actions. Probably because his mind was still dealing with the General's firm statement that failing to catch his attacker had not been his fault and, even more astonishing, that he had done a good job in defending himself while wearing only his birthday suit.

That was a great change from McGee's former father figures: the Admiral would have yelled at the top of his lungs that his son was nothing but an idiot; Gibbs would have forced him to work until the perpetrator was caught – without inquiring if Tim had been injured in the scuffle – to 'redeem' himself for his failure. Stephenson had been genuinely concerned for his well-being, had listened to his story without criticizing and he had reassured him... A far cry from the uncompromising atmosphere at NCIS he had been living in for eight years.

"_In fact, the General doesn't seem offended by me dozing off in his office,"_ thought Tim as he fidgeted with a corner of the coat covering him. _"He gave me a warm coat to snuggle in; he even bothered with dimming the lights of the office..."_

A muffled sound was heard outside the door left ajar, and the young man recognized the soldier's silhouette through the narrow opening.

"_... And he left me a bodyguard, too! My God, Stephenson has shown more caring towards me in a few weeks than my own father during my whole lifetime. Let alone Gibbs..."_

His eyes turned into hard emeralds at the memory of his Team Leader; Gibbs certainly could definitively take lessons in leadership from Stephenson, since the latter did not use personal tragedies or his military experience to act the tyrant. The General was of the rare kind of man who gave the people under his command a chance to prove themselves, instead of continuingly pester them – or, even worse, ridicule them. That was what Tony was doing all day long and Tim had understood over years of experience why the Senior Agent was behaving like this: DiNozzo was scared to death of competition because, deep down, he was a very insecure man. For all his outspokenness, Tony dreaded to be outsmarted by a colleague or a suspect and thus, he had to steal the limelight as if his life depended on it – regardless of hurting his teammates' feelings and betraying their trust. Same thing with Gibbs, who feared to see his authority being challenged by a subaltern daring to raise an opinion; but after having spent a few weeks in company of Stephenson, Tim was starting to consider his Team Leader and the Very Special Agent as fools scared of their own shadows and unable to cope with real life, a pair of spoiled kids throwing tantrums at the first sign of contrariness.

The young man chuckled lightly at the image of Gibbs and Tony as unruly toddlers, but then the sound of scraping feet outside the office's door made him remember Roberts' presence nearby, watching over him...

A demented firework of ideas suddenly flashed inside Tim's mind: ._..Watching over him... The Watcher... The casing! _

Tim jumped on his feet with a gasp, making the General's coat fall on the floor in a heap. His bruised face shone like gold as mental images clicked together in a perfect succession, like jigsaw puzzle pieces forming a coherent picture. Math equations, materials, design, calculations and settings linked together like a fantastic railroad of logic on which Tim's train of thoughts went on at an incredible speed to reach its destination, fueled by ideas and energy.

_He has found it! He has found the solution! Finally, he has found a way to protect The Watcher!_

McGee shouted an enthusiastic **"YEEESSSS!"** and pumped his fist to the ceiling before jumping out of Stephenson's office. However, he nearly collided with Roberts who was standing on the doorstep, alarmed by the sudden sound.

"Sir? What's going on?" asked a perplexed Corporal. One second the 'Special Civilian' was peacefully sleeping, the other he was shouting like a hysterical football fan during the Super Bowl.

"I FOUND IT! ROBERTS! I FOUND THE CASING!"

"The what?"

"The casing! For The Watcher! I've found the solution! I've finally found it! It's going to work, Roberts!"

"Oh, goody! Er... I mean that's great, Sir!"

"Yeah! I have to go to the garage, right away!" said Tim, jumping up and down in joy at the thought of settling The Watcher on the Humvee right away; but he barely made a step toward before Roberts grabbed him roughly by the arm.

"SIR! I can't let you go; you're supposed to stay inside this office. General's orders!"

Tim stared at the Corporal with rounded eyes, his enthusiasm coming to an abrupt halt; in other circumstances, Roberts would have laughed out loud at the civilian's stupefied expression since it was truly comical, like the faces made by actors in silent movies! However, it was not the time to joke around; Stephenson was an understanding person but he did not suffer disobedience easily and, even though this kind of incident rarely happened, Roberts was not eager to add his name on the list of soldiers foolish enough to have dared to make a mockery of the General's authority.

"Stay here?" asked a shocked Tim.

"Yes, Sir. The MPs are patrolling all over the base to find the culprit who has attacked you and General Stephenson has ordered me to keep you in his office until his return. He was very clear about it, Sir; please, step inside."

"Oh..." whispered McGee; the old insecurities stirred in the depths of his subconscious but his reasonable nature promptly overcame them. Stephenson just wanted to be sure ISAF was not under attack before letting him go, as an intruder wandering on the grounds was a very serious matter. Here again, the General was not keeping him indoors because he thought Tim was an incompetent; it was out of concern for his safety and the people's living at the base and McGee felt grateful toward the older man who took to heart the protection of everyone under his command, including undercover NCIS agents.

He smiled at the Corporal, and said:

"Yes, of course; sorry about that, Roberts, I got a bit carried away. Well, do you think I can have a pen and some paper?"

"Pen and paper? Why, sure, Sir!"

Roberts picked up the requested items on his desk in record time and presented them to Tim, who thanked him before returning inside Stephenson's office; he sat down on a chair and started writing in earnest, a look of intense concentration on his face. The garage may be off-limits for the moment but Tim could use the 'confinement time' to put on paper all the ideas that had burst inside his brains. Finally, something positive would come out of this infernal night!

Roberts watched McGee writing like a man possessed, and after a few minutes he cleared his throat and asked:

"Care for coffee, Sir?"

For a second, the Corporal feared Tim would tell him to go to Hell, but the young man raised his eyes and answered:

"Yes, please; it would be very nice."

"Right away, Sir!"

Roberts went back to his desk and took out paper cups and instant coffee bags from his drawer, before heading for the electric kettle that Sergeant Van Horn always kept ready on a filling cabinet. It would not be the best coffee, far from it but Roberts was certain McGee would not mind; the young man was definitively an easy-going kind of guy, always polite and following orders like a real soldier. The Corporal had not said it out loud but he had been worried after learning a fed from NCIS would come to ISAF under a false identity to work on a secret project: how could a civilian ever blend in a base under high scrutiny, and adapt to the harsh military life? And yet, McGee had succeeded beyond Stephenson's (and Roberts') expectations; what's more, he seemed to have solved the last puzzle that would make The Watcher a reality! No doubts the young man would be accordingly rewarded by General Stephenson and Roberts would like to see a medal pinned on McGee's chest, civilian or not.

Of course, there was the matter of that intruder having an unhealthy interest towards the 'Special Civilian'. But the Corporal had a dangerous smile as he silently vowed to listen to every scrap of conversation at ISAF; sooner or later, he would learn from a gossiping tongue the name of the culprit who had so cowardly attacked the Lieutenant and then… things would become ugly. The General and his _aide-de-camp_ would make sure of that!

* * *

><p><em>At the NCIS bullpen…<em>

"DiNozzo, my office!" growled Gibbs before heading for the elevator without waiting for an answer.

Tony put down his pencil with a face like thunder. Ziva, who had been typing references about a cold case, watched her colleague with worried eyes: Tony was barely talking to Gibbs and the Team Leader detested sulking with a passion, so it would only lead to a volatile situation and they did not need another scandal in the bullpen – especially since Abby's suspension had been prolonged for six weeks, making the NCIS' rumor mill buzzing like a super-sized hornet's nest.

Gibbs had announced this recent development to Tony and Ziva, as well as Ducky and Jimmy in the conference room and the reactions had been varied greatly depending of the protagonists: Ducky had shook his head sadly and stated it was something bound to happen; Jimmy had shrugged his narrow shoulders in an expression of indifference and he had deliberately ignored Gibbs' glare; Ziva had asked what could they do to cheer Abby up but Tony's eyes had darkened even more and he had not said a thing about the Lab Rat's predicament, which had been really strange since his big mouth was genetically programmed to remain open at all times.

"Tony, what's going on?" asked the Israeli woman.

"I haven't done anything!" hissed the Senior Agent back. "And I'd really appreciate if you and Gibbs or the others would stop blaming me for everything that goes wrong in this bullpen!"

"I am not accusing you, Tony. But you've been giving Gibbs the cold arm lately and you know it's a sure way to irritate him."

"It's _'shoulder'_, the_ 'cold shoulder'_ and Gibbs is too preoccupied with his pet to bother with helping me about the review board."

"A pet? I didn't know he had acquired one; besides, how come an animal could ever distract Gibbs from his work?"

"I'm talking about McGee, Ziver."

"Tim isn't an animal!" protested the young woman, her dark eyes shining dangerously.

"No, but he has become Gibbs' favorite!" retorted Tony bitterly.

Ziva's expression changed from furious to perplexed; what in the world did DiNozzo mean?

"Tony, Abby **is** Gibbs' favorite and that's a well-known fact."

"Yeah, well you're obviously not aware of the change. Gibbs has chosen McGee as his new number-one!"

"That's absurd!"

"Oh, is it? Just wait and see," concluded Tony, rising from his office chair to head for the elevator. He knew in advance what was going to happen: Gibbs would press any stair's button on the control station and, once the cabin would be in motion, he would activate the emergency toggle switch. Then, he and Tony would have a tense conversation within the metallic walls providing perfect soundproofing; Gibbs called the elevator's cabin his 'office' whenever he was displeased with one of his teammates – he needed a discreet place to tear the culprit a new one and without risking being interrupted by concerned passing-by agents.

"_In the elevator, no one can hear you scream"_, thought Tony, misquoting the _Alien_ movie's catchphrase. He nonetheless stepped inside the vertical transport and Gibbs pressed the basement's button as if they were going to the morgue and then, right on cue, the cabin stopped between two levels after a few seconds.

"Okay, DiNozzo, spit it out. What is it with you?" asked Gibbs with his usual 'let's-not-beat-about-the-bush' style.

"What is it with me? You're asking what is it with **me**? How about you, have you gone nuts?"

"Careful," growled the Team Leader dangerously.

"Yeah, right. First you want me to speak and then you tell me to shut up. Make up your mind!"

"You're treading on very thin ice, DiNozzo! I wanna know why you're been giving me the Evil Eye of late, and don't waste my time with your usual stalling. I know you're nervous about that review board, but…"

"I'M NOT NERVOUS!" roared Tony in a very good imitation of his mentor. "I'm dealing with the review board members and I'm doing a damn good job of it! I've blown them away with all the cases that **I** have solved and they haven't been able to find a single flaw in my work!"

Gibbs repressed the urge to remind Tony of Rule no. 7: _"Always be specific when you lie"_. The young man's vehement declaration was in fact a pitiful attempt to disguise the fact his performance had bombed in front of the review board.

"Did you get a solicitor, like I've advised you to do so?"

"No, I don't need one! I'm not a criminal who runs crying to his attorney as soon as the cuffs are slapped on him."

"You went in front of the review board on your own?" asked a stunned Gibbs.

"Yeah! I fight my own battles!"

"Goddammit, DiNozzo, when are you going to get your head out of your navel? Getting an attorney is not an insult to your virility, or the ultimate proof that you're unable to defend yourself! You can rely on your teammates to have your back when fighting thugs in the streets, but for a review board you need someone to advise you and make sure your rights are respected. I've told you to get legal representation!"

"Are you going to get one?" counter-attacked an ironic Tony.

"No."

"Then, why should I?"

"Because you have your whole career in front of you, fool! I have not a chance in Hell to move up the chain of command at my age so I don't care if the board members write a report to Vance, recommending him to show me the door. But you have enough potential to become one of the pillars of NCIS if you play your cards correctly. However, one false step could cost you dearly, like acting the goat during a review board; you could even be demoted! And you don't you think a solicitor could have helped you, DiNozzo? You went to the review board like a lamb to the slaughterhouse!"

"Oh, so you care about me? Since when?" asked Tony harshly.

_**TWACK!**_

The head-slap hit the back of the young man's skull right on the expected spot.

"Mind the mouth, DiNozzo. I don't know what silly ideas you have in mind but I swear to you, I'll head-slap you until you teeth pop out if you don't get your act together. I care for every one of my teammates!"

"That's rich, coming from you. Aren't you the one who has yelled across the bullpen that promoting me to Senior Agent has been the greatest mistake of your life? Aren't you the one who has been a no-show for weeks? And, last but not the least, aren't you the one who left me out to dry with my problems because you were too busy thinking about a computer geek who has quit the team without a backward glance? As soon has McLoser has left DC, you have been obsessed with him and you wouldn't have cared if the whole NCIS building had fallen on my head. One day I'm your best agent and the next I've become invisible! You didn't even bother to call and ask how I was feeling after having faced those three sourpusses from the board; well, let me enlighten you: it felt like being interviewed by Freddy Krueger, Jason Voorhees and Nurse Ratched at the same time. They've been prejudiced towards me from the very beginning and they've made the biggest fuss over the littlest things: the pranks I've played on Probie, the jokes, the mission in Iraq and all that jazz. Frankly, who in his right state of mind would give a damn about all this? The only thing that matters is getting the job done and to Hell with the rest, no?"

Gibbs had no idea who Freddy, Jason and the nurse were, but he had enough imagination to realize Tony was referencing to disreputable characters; no doubts his Senior Agent had a bad time with the board members but he could not let the young man to blame an absent for his woes:

"Tony, this is exactly why McGee has thrown in the towel; we've been too callous towards him and he left to find a working place where people would actually care about his well-being."

"In the middle of a war zone? Give me a break!" snorted DiNozzo. "I've been there and it's no place for wusses like Probie; he may have replaced his fat with some muscles lately but it won't be enough for him to play soldier. He's probably crawling on his hands and knees right now, begging General Patton to send him back to the States because of his sun allergies and the grunts must be fed up with him constantly boasting about his I.Q."

"Just like the sailors of the _Ronald Reagan_ were fed up with your boasting about your career, DiNozzo?" asked Gibbs sharply. "Yes, I've read the reports and your description wasn't flattering; in fact, you acted like a class clown during your whole time there and believe me when I tell you that you have gotten very close being thrown overboard a few times."

"Oh, yeah? I'd have liked to see them try!"

"They would have won, DiNozzo. You haven't made any friends aboard the _Ronald Reagan_ and no-one would have moved a finger to help you. You really have a knack for irritating people!"

"Same as you, Boss. Besides, not every word that comes out of your mouth is a pearl."

_**TWACK!**_

The second head-slap was harder than the first's and Tony somberly thought he should have borrowed Carter's motorcycle helmet before going to work this morning. It would have spared him from getting a major headache!

"It won't stop the truth from coming out, Boss."

"And what is the truth, DiNozzo?" asked a seething Gibbs.

"**You've abandoned me!" **shouted Tony in a rare display of anger.** "You've said you considered me as your son and yet, you've tossed me aside in favor of McBrainy** **even though he has released a shit-storm over our heads as a good-bye present!"**

The Senior Agent's statement left Gibbs speechless for a few seconds, and then he asked:

"Do my ears deceive me? Are you actually saying that you think I've forgotten all about you?"

"Well, what am I supposed to think? You sigh when looking at Probie's empty desk, you're fighting for the right to talk to him at MTAC on Fridays and you've even started reading that book from the Confusing guy Penny was quoting all the time during her last visit here…"

"Have you been rummaging through my things again, DiNozzo?"

"Didn't have to, you left the book on your desk, in plain sight! Despite of what the review board members think, I'm a pretty good investigator. It didn't take me long to realize you've been thinking about McCheater night and day but what about me? Don't I deserve a bit of your attention, after all the work I've done at NCIS?"

"Tony, this is ridiculous. You're one of my best agents; don't you know this by now? But your major flaw is your permanent attention-seeking; you get offended whenever I manifest an interest toward another person and it's an attitude unworthy of a Senior Agent. You'll never become a good Team Leader if you are constantly worried about not being in the spotlight."

"I **am** a good Team Leader! I've replaced you overnight and did a darn fine job. I deserve the first place in your attention, not McGoogle!"

"For the love of God, Tony! Are you saying that I should forget Tim, who is risking his life every day in Afghanistan to keep our troopers safe?"

"Yes! McPretentious has made his choice; since we're not good enough for him, then he's not good enough for us and there's no sense in missing him."

"I really think you're the one who has gone nuts, DiNozzo. **How can you talk about Tim like this?** He's been nothing but loyal to everyone, he went with you in Somalia to free Ziva, now he's in a war zone and you say he's not good enough for us?"

"He stole my place!"

"Just like you did with this mission in Iraq, but **you** are allowed to do this kind of dirty trick while Tim is doomed to remain behind, isn't it? For your information, your status within the team has never been imperiled in the first place; I haven't tossed you aside for McGee but you have to learn to _share_, DiNozzo. You'll get nowhere in life if you keep on clinging to this spoiled 'only child's act' you cherish so much. You can't possibly develop teamwork skills while ordering other people to remain focused on you at all times. You can't ask me to be concerned by anybody else but you. You cannot imagine for a second Vance would overlook a first-rate agent like Tim just because you're afraid of competition. Enjoying movies doesn't make you a movie star; you're a federal agent and this simple fact should be enough to flatter your ego. As for Tim, he isn't your rival: he's your partner, for crying out loud! Can't you see the difference? The poor kid had his share of neglect from us and it's no wonder he went abroad in order to get a little consideration from strangers, instead of the persons he had been working with for eight years, even if it could cost him his life."

"Look, Boss…"

"That's enough, DiNozzo. If you feel the need to talk, you can come to my house anytime. I will gladly give you advice about beating this review board but in the meantime, you are going to ask for a legal representative and there will be Hell to pay if I ever hear you've been ignoring my orders. I've already lost an agent and I won't lose another one because of your arrogance and stubbornness. I have enough on my plate right now, especially with Abby's latest stunt that will force us to file up cold cases and deal with Peterson for an extra six weeks, so the last thing I need is your childish fear of losing your rank every time I want to contact McGee to know how he is faring. You pretend to be a big brother towards your teammates, don't you? Well, you've been doing a very poor job, DiNozzo: a big brother is supposed to protect his younger siblings and not to sabotage their chances of growing up with ridicule or hazing."

Tony grit his teeth as a sentence from Agent Sewell of the review board came back to his mind: _"__Your job is not to give newcomers a hard time but to guide their first steps with your experience"_.

Gibbs flipped the emergency toggle switch's level and the elevator's cabin re-started its route downwards, making Tony sigh out in relief. The lecture was over, thanks goodness!

"And I don't wanna see you making this jealous number at work, either. Do you think I'm blind? Every time I look at Tim's desk, I can feel you glaring at the back of my head; well, this is going to stop or you can find another job, DiNozzo, do you hear me?"

"Yes, Boss…" said an unconvinced Tony.

"Good. Now think about what I've just told you and remember that craving for preferential treatment will only weaken you; it will make you supine and you can't possibly imagine earning respect with this kind of behavior. I'm sole responsible for all this. I've played 'favorite' amongst you lot; it has inflated vanities like hot-air balloons and look what it has brought us: Tim's gone, Abby's suspended and you facing a review board. Do you think I'm pleased? My team is falling apart like a sandcastle at high tide and I hate being in this kind of situation. So you and I are going to face the review board with a legal representative by our sides, Abby's going to attend her Dog Attacks' classes without complains, and when Tim's back we are all going to give him a sincere welcome, and hope he'll forgive us for the crap we have fed him for years. While you're at it, put an end to your unfunny jokes, as they are nothing but a big fat waste of time and energy!"

Tony muttered another _"Yes, Boss"_ before the cabin finally stopped at the basement's floor. Gibbs stepped out of the elevator to speak with Ducky, but DiNozzo pressed on the button for the bullpen. He had nothing to do at the morgue and the sight of dead bodies was not what he needed after having being racked over the coals by the Team Leader. Their conversation had left him a bad taste in the mouth and Tony's first impulse would have been to blame the whole fiasco on Tim, but Gibbs' warning was too fresh in his mind for daring to think this way.

"_Maybe I could have another talk with Gibbs, but in a nicer context," thought the Senior Agent. "An elevator's cabin stuck between two levels isn't the best place to take stock of the situation; it'd probably be a good idea to show up at Gibbs' house with a bottle of Scotch and we'll have drinks in his basement like two real men; and then, I'm certain the old guy will confirm he's considering __**me**__ as his son, and not McGee!"_

TBC…


	33. A session - part 2

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- Robert Morris Page (1903–1992) was an American physicist and a leading figure in the development of radar technology (from Wikipedia).

_- Giton_ is an ancient French word used to qualify a young homosexual friend of a mature man.

- Douglas Fairbanks (1883–1939) was an American actor, screenwriter, director and producer.

- To Guest, None and Mr Danish Fan: thank you very much for your kind words!

- To Earthdragon: Tony has a legal representative in this chapter but it won't help his case much.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 33: A session – part two<strong>

_The next day…_

"Let's go, Roberts!" said an enthusiastic Tim McGee from the back seat of the Humvee, his laptop computer resting on his thighs.

"Right away, Sir," answered the Corporal. He fired up the engine, which came to life with a loud roar echoing through the garage while letting out a heavy cloud of hydrocarbon fumes. Then Roberts pulled the stick shift and drove the Humvee out as Tim scrutinized with fascination the screen of his laptop.

Today was the first running test of The Watcher, set-up in a brand-new casing fixed inside the vehicle: after weeks of frustrating work followed by an incredible illumination in Stephenson's office, Tim would find out if the casing he had designed was able to give accurate protection for the detection program. The young man was both excited and terrified at the thought of finally reaching his goal!

Of course, the first essay would be limited to ISAF's grounds; Stephenson had adamantly refused to be otherwise, not with the unsolved enigma of the past night's intruder. In spite of patrols and surveillance, Tim's attacker still had not been found and it displeased the General greatly – consequently, he had given his authorization for essays being conducted only at the base, for starters. If they were conclusive, then he would allow McGee to run tests out there in the desert… even thought Stephenson was not happy about this idea. He wanted The Watcher to be operational, for sure, but he was not keen on releasing Tim from the confinement of ISAF; the General had grown fond of the young man over the weeks and letting Tim wander in the desert almost felt like throwing his son into the heart of danger.

Roberts had volunteered to be Tim's chauffeur, something Stephenson was deeply grateful for: the Corporal would act as an unofficial bodyguard but also, he knew where guns and ammunitions were stored around ISAF. Therefore, Roberts would be able to testify if The Watcher was indeed able to detect explosives – not that Stephenson doubted McGee's word, but the 'Special Civilian' lacked experience about military equipment and the Corporal would provide him with precisions.

Roberts drove the Humvee in the courtyard, in spite of being almost blinded by the blazing sun and suffocated by the heat. One glance in the rear-view mirror informed him that McGee had not moved a muscle, too fascinated by the information displayed on the laptop's screen. And then, above the racket made by the vehicle's motor, an electronic sound could be heard, slow and steady like a heartbeat: _beep…. beep… beep..._

"What's that, Sir?"

"That's The Watcher alive and kicking, Roberts," said Tim. "It works like radar, where radio waves reflect on solid objects, except it detects components used to make explosives instead of moving planes or ships."

"D'you think it will it be able to find out where landmines are buried, Sir?" asked the Corporal, voicing out the enlisted men's worst fear. "It's perfectly safe here at ISAF but our boys are risking their lives every time they go on patrol, with those goddamned mines on every road in this country."

Tim's emerald-colored eyes darkened slightly at the thought of soldiers being killed or maimed by those traitorous items which could transform the most harmless-looking dirt path into a slaughterhouse. But with the combined use of thermograph, ultrasounds, radar and night vision scope technologies, the young man was confident The Watcher would procure an increased security to patrollers, allowing them to keep a sharp lookout without having to worry about potential road traps.

"If The Watcher can spot out explosive materials inside buildings, then there's a good chance it will be able to detect landmines as well, Roberts."

"That's good, Sir; very good, indeed."

The Corporal turned right and started to make a complete tour of the base while McGee resumed his attention towards the computer.

_Beep…. beep… beep..._

So far, The Watcher was working to the perfection: its multiple signals were coordinating to draw a complete electronic map of ISAF's grounds on the laptop's screen, complete with buildings, electric wiring, water pipes, vehicles and people coming and going with barely a second's time of delay when the 'obstacle' was detected by the program and its image was 'drawn' on the screen. Roberts drove the Humvee nearby an ordinary-looking warehouse and The Watcher's voice became frantic: _beep…. beep… beepbeepbeepbeepbeep!_

"Roberts? The building we are passing by is stocked with… twenty-four crates of guns… and twelve of grenades!" said Tim, reading the information written at all speed on the screen.

"That's correct, Sir. It is one of our armories," confirmed Roberts. "I cannot confirm about the number of crates, though, but I'm ready to bet you're right!"

Tim had a small smile at those words, inwardly pleased by the Corporal's trust; The Watcher had detected guns and grenades dissimulated inside a warehouse, without a glitch! But he was not the kind of man to overly rejoice at a first success – in fact, it would take thousands of tests before McGee would allow himself to think his work was 'not bad'.

Roberts turned right, and then left; The Watcher kept on beeping and Tim read out loud the data:

"Five machine guns stored in the building we have just passed… _(Beepbeepbeep!)… _the soldier crossing the road is carrying… a Beretta M9 at his belt. _(Beepbeepbeep!) _Three crates of dynamite in the warehouse on our left…"

Roberts was floored; the fed-in-disguise was revealing ISAF's caches after another, calmly, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. That was amazing! It felt like witnessing Robert Page detecting a plane flying over the Potomac River with the first radar apparatus! The Watcher gizmo was definitively working and Stephenson would jump up and down in joy!

_Beepbeepbeep!_

The Corporal glanced again in the rear-view mirror: McGee, totally engrossed by the laptop's screen, kept on telling the location of the weapons located all over the base and, if it had been anybody else but the 'Special Civilian', Roberts would have raised the alarm on the spot. It was both eerie and fantastic to have ISAF's secrets exposed by a young man armed only with a laptop and his brains, as The Watcher kept on detecting weapons over a racket of _'beeps'_!

_Beepbeepbeepbeepbeep!_

"Another truck with a machine gun in the rear… Five cases of ammunition in the storehouse on our right…"

Within the hour, The Watcher had screened, identified and reported every single weapon in the base's courtyard. Roberts drove back to the garage in a hurry and, once they were inside, he shut down the motor and turned over to look at Tim with rounded eyes.

"For the love of all that's holy, Sir, how in the world did you manage to do that? If I didn't know better, I'd have said you're a sorcerer!"

"Sorcery? No, Roberts; it was just an idea of wiring a radar device to a computer program using several detecting technologies."

"Then who inspired you, Sherlock Holmes? I swear you've managed to find out every gun and piece of ammo scattered around the courtyard. Why, you'd probably found the ones that have been stashed inside the administration buildings if I could drive the Humvee through the corridors!"

"Maybe, but it would make too much of a disturbance and that's not what we want," reminded Tim with a small smile. He saved the data collected by The Watcher before switching off the laptop and got out of the Humvee on shaky legs from having been curled up on the back seat for too long; as a result, he had pins and needles but he had been too fascinated by The Watcher to pay attention to his limbs' discomfort!

"Gosh, Sir, you have to report to the General immediately: he must be pretty impatient to hear about your success!"

"It's a conclusive first test, Roberts. We cannot already say it's a success …" said Tim as he opened the Humvee's hood to remove The Watcher, nestled in its casing near the vehicle's motor.

"With all due respect, Sir, you're too modest!" protested the Corporal. "If I weren't bound to secrecy, I'd shout your accomplishments all over the base. You've hit major pay dirt with that program!"

"You're too kind, Roberts, but you're right. We should go see General Stephenson at once."

The two men exited the premises, Tim cradling the precious box and the laptop to his chest while the Corporal locked the garage's door behind them. The Watcher could not stay inside the Humvee for the moment, not with the secrecy surrounding this project but Tim would have to know if the casing could also protect the detecting device against brusque variations of temperatures. The Watcher had to be sheltered from the heat of the climate and vehicles' motors, but also from cold nights and the hash Afghan winter to become an integral part of a Humvee, like steering wheels or headlights. To do that, Tim would have to ask Stephenson permission to keep The Watcher wired inside the vehicle at night. He would sleep in the garage to protect the device, if needed…

"Shall we go see General Stephenson, Sir?"

"Unh? Oh, yes," said Tim, pulled out of his train of thoughts.

"And ask him to open a bottle of champagne?" asked the Corporal with a teasing smile.

"Champagne? It's too early and besides, we have to remain discreet, Roberts."

"Gosh, at times I hate the secrecy of this situation! Considering your outstanding performances…"

"Hush, Roberts!" said Tim, half-laughing from the Corporal's enthusiasm. "If someone hears you…"

"Oh, there's nobody here to eavesdrop, Sir," said Roberts, who nonetheless took a look around but the person closest to them was a soldier walking towards the hospital wing, at a good half-mile from them. The Corporal and McGee turned heels and walked towards the administration buildings, to break the good news to General Stephenson.

As soon as they left, Sergeant Miller stepped out of the shadows provided by the garage's walls to look hatefully at the two silhouettes leaving, as his suspicious mind started to raise questions: what was the lackey and the boy-toy doing? Miller had seen the Humvee exiting the garage, with Roberts at the wheel and McGee on the backseat and he had first thought the boy-toy had asked Sugar Daddy Stephenson permission for a trip downtown, with the lackey requisitioned as chauffeur but after a few minutes, the Sergeant had realized the vehicle was not leaving the base's grounds. In fact, Roberts had acted as if he was giving McGee a ride around ISAF, driving in circles like a goddamned tour guide aboard a minibus instead of a soldier of the United States Army.

That little game had lasted for about an hour, and then they had both went back to the garage, turning off the Humvee before congratulating each other… But for what? Driving around the base at a slow pace? That did not make any sense! And why did they want to talk to Stephenson right away, to compliment Roberts for being a useless chauffeur?

And then, Miller had overhead bits of conversation between the lackey and the boy-toy:

_Roberts predicting the General would soon open a bottle of champagne._

_McGee reminding him they had to be discreet._

_Roberts grumbling about being stuck in a situation requesting discretion… Talking about McGee's 'outstanding performances'._

_McGee telling him to keep his voice down, worrying about being heard by someone._

A malicious grin spread on Miller's lips: outstanding performances, eh? Well, he sure knew where they happened. In the General's office, with Stephenson and McGee making the beast with two backs! That disgusting little faggot of a Lieutenant, who had dared to fight back in the showers' room – oh, how the Sergeant wished he had snatched that big dark knife from McGee's hand to plant the blade right into his balls, neutering him like Miller's father used to do with the farm's calves! How he would have enjoyed hearing the Giton's screams of pain, with a river of blood flowing from his lower abdomen! How he would have loved to cut McGee to ribbons while nailing his ass to the floor!

A dull ache in his thigh made Miller snap out of his sadistic dreams; McGee was a pansy but he knew how to wield a knife, and no doubts Sugar Daddy Stephenson was looking all over the base for a man wounded on the thigh. It had been a close call, and Miller knew it! After fleeing the showers' room, he had run as quickly as possible to one of his secret caches; he had dressed his leg wounds and, after getting rid of the SAPI plates and the balaclava, he had gotten over the wall to go see a doctor in Kabul. Since Miller was supposed to be on leave that night, his absence would not be noticed before it would be time for him to go back to the base.

The doctor, Abdallah al-Hassan, had done a great job in fixing the injured thigh – of course, the Sergeant had to endure a long speech in broken English from the doctor, with multiple statements of how lucky Miller had been: the knife wound had missed the femoral artery only by an inch and he ought to thank his lucky stars, otherwise he would have bled to death without even getting a chance of leaving ISAF discreetly. Miller had been very close to throw a punch so Abdallah al-Hassan would keep his lecture to himself, but it would not have been a wise move when injured and in dire need of help.

The doctor, born Alexander Yevgeny Svetlov, had been a medical officer of the Soviet Army and had come to Afghanistan during the 1979 invasion. But Svetlov had developed a fondness for opium during his service; after too many mistakes and dead patients, his superior officers had become highly suspicious and only the Soviet troops' withdrawal in 1989 had saved the doctor from being court-martialed and shot for criminal negligence. But Svetlov had refused to go home, far from his drug suppliers and with a compromised future as an army doctor. Instead, he had chosen to remain in Kabul, converted to Islam and set up a discreet medical practice. Over the years, Dr. al-Hassan had developed a nice little clientele of people too desperate to be finicky about his abilities, and his patients knew they could pay in kind, with opium. Even the Taliban had requested his services from time to time during their reign, since the good doctor never treated female patients (in spite of their desperate pleas).

Miller had heard about this ex-Commie practitioner through the grapevine, and instead of denouncing him he had struck a deal with al-Hassan: he would provide the Sergeant with free medical help any day or night, in exchange of silence. The doctor, high as a kite at the time, had gratefully accepted – and Miller had sealed their deal with a few grams of opium paste; having a medical ally outside the base could only come in on handy – and the recent events had proved the Sergeant right. In spite of the late hour, Dr. al-Hassan had sewed up the wound, bandaged it tightly and given Miller tiny homemade opium pills for the pain: as a result, the Sergeant had been able to walk back to ISAF without limping, looking as innocent as a newborn lamb.

Of course, Miller knew he was not out of the woods yet; doctors had been snooping around – especially that Wilkins pest – and the Sergeant figured they were sent by Sugar Daddy Stephenson. Patrols had been doubled for a so-called alert exercise; officers had been questioning the men about their whereabouts; an atmosphere of suspicion floated above the base and Miller had to put his sideline activities on 'hold' for a while: it would be too stupid to be caught on the act of smuggling goods right now, with the General Hell-bent on finding the culprit who had dared to attack his boy-toy!

Nonetheless, the Sergeant had not renounced to his dreams of revenge. Tim's resistance, coupled to the thigh wound he had sustained, could only fuel Miller's sense of outrage to the maximum – and the conversation he had just caught gave him another reason to be jealous. The faggot would be complimented by the General for a great performance, eh? Drinking champagne while Miller would have to content himself with the filth served at the mess hall? How dare they, thought the Sergeant, how dare a couple of fags like Stephenson and McGee enjoy the high life while he, a straight and honest soldier, was left to rot at the bottom of the food chain? _How dare they?_

His leg was starting to throb, and Miller grunted in annoyance; it was time to swallow another one of the good doctor's awful-tasting pills if he did not want to raise suspicion. He could not risk Captain Wilkins or another busybody doctor to spot his signs of discomfort and, after insisting on an examination, would ask him to drop his pants and reveal his tightly-bandaged leg. Nope, it was better to lie low, take his medicine like a good patient and change the dressings on his wound – he had stolen enough gauze and compresses from the hospital for that, selling them at a high price on the black market for months. But he **would** have his revenge on McGee! The direct attack had failed and Miller would not admit defeat, but his injury had taught him to be more prudent. When unable to defeat an enemy, the next best thing to do was to recruit allies!

* * *

><p><em>Two days later, at NCIS…<em>

"Please state your full name and rank for the record."

"Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo Junior, NCIS," answered Tony. His clothing was immaculate but he was looking way more sullen than during the previous review board session. He hated this situation with every fiber of his being; he disliked the presence of a lawyer at his side; and, above everything else, he resented having to face Agents Carter, Sewell and Stephens again and explain why he had relentlessly ridiculed one of his co-workers for eight years. On top of everything, he had been too busy preparing his arguments for the review board, he had not had the time to come to Gibbs' house and share a bottle of Jack Daniels' like he had hoped. So Tony was currently facing his bane without having received any form of moral support from his mentor, and it had not improved his mood at all.

Tony's lawyer, Fred Fairbanks, did not seem overly happy to be here, either. Tony had requested legal advice as Gibbs had ordered him but the attorney-client relation had started badly, with DiNozzo asking right from the start if Fairbanks was somehow related with the famous actor who played in silent movies. The attorney had retorted it would be a good idea for Tony to remain silent during the review board session, if the only things coming out of his mouth were stupidities. That had crossed Tony to no end and he would have asked for another lawyer if he had not feared to endure Gibbs' wrath at the news.

"I am Frederick Fairbanks, Agent DiNozzo's legal advisor," stated the lawyer.

"Welcome, Mister Fairbanks. I am Agent Carter, and these gentlemen are Agents Sewell and Stephens. Agent Sewell, please note in the minutes that Agent DiNozzo has asked for a lawyer on this second session of the review board. Have you been fully informed about the charges made against Agent DiNozzo, Mister Fairbainks?"

"I have gained knowledge of the file, Agent Carter."

"Good! We can start at once, then. Agent DiNozzo, during our first session, you have been informed about the allegations made against you of hazing, vandalism, calumny and disloyalty towards a fellow agent. We have also explained you the circumstances in which those allegations have been made. Now, after having had some time to think it over, would you grace us with an explanation for your attitude?"

Tony looked daggers at the tanned woman with the blonde bun who was treating him like a naughty schoolboy called to the principal's office. He was not a kid; he was a federal agent and he deserved respect, even from those stuck-up board members!

"I stick to what I've said before, _**Agent**_ Carter," said DiNozzo, deliberately emphasizing the woman's title as retaliation of her previous scolding. No way would he call her _"Ma'am" _or_ "Lady"_ again; she could hardly be considered as a model of feminine beauty, anyway!

"For the record, would you mind re-telling exactly what you have said before, Agent DiNozzo?" asked Stephens.

"I've trained Agent McGee so he'd become an efficient NCIS federal agent and yeah, it included hazing and practical jokes. I didn't do it to give him a hard time, but to shake the softness out of him so he'd be able to endure the gruesome murder cases that we investigate for a living. Our job is a hard one, and we cannot waste time with employees fainting or vomiting at a moment's notice. Our Team Leader, Special Agent Gibbs, thinks the same way; he's ex-Marine and he has seen his share of ugly things during his career. He knows time is the essence in solving cases and he makes us work quickly and efficiently to catch the wrongdoers. Working with Gibbs is a sink or swim situation: either you're good, or you're useless. McGee was pretty useless when he came to NCIS so it was up to me to make him good, otherwise Gibbs would have tossed him out at the end of his first day."

"Useless?" repeated Sewell, his gray eyebrows rising from indignation. "You call a man with a brilliant intellect and two college degrees, useless?"

"That's a big deal!" retorted Tony. "College degrees are not what it helps you out in the field. Federal agents need to be resourceful and efficient with firearms, hand-to-hand combat…"

"According to our sources, all agents – including Agent McGee – have to endure complete training at recruitment and to pass tests every year. So far, your colleague had not failed one physical examination, he has scored firearms' tests with flying colors and he is a regular attendant of the NCIS mandatory workshops. How about you, Agent DiNozzo? Have you ever signed up for a course?"

"Forgive me, Agent Sewell, but this isn't relevant," objected Fairbanks. "My client's education isn't no to be questioned in this case."

"Actually, it is. I repeat my question: how many mandatory workshops have you attended since you've been hired at NCIS, Agent DiNozzo?"

"None," grumbled Tony. "They're nothing but a waste of time!"

"Oh, really? You should have paid more attention to the brochures, then. Those workshops treat about some real interesting subjects, like new investigating techniques or criminal law… Now, don't you think those workshops would have been useful to **you**, Agent DiNozzo?"

"No! I already know all this. I've gotten basic training in the streets, not in the comfort of a classroom!"

"Well, did you not learn in your street-wise basic training the importance of solidarity, friendship with your fellow colleagues, and respect towards authority?" asked Stephens, his dark eyes gleaming dangerously behind his glasses. "Or maybe you think a badge is a license to act as you please, both outside and in the office?"

"I've never said that!"

"Calm down Agent DiNozzo! Getting upset won't help your case," said Fairbanks.

"Oh, be quiet!" snapped Tony. The lawyer sighed at this display of impoliteness: it would make a great impression on the board members, indeed!

"Agent DiNozzo, it is really too bad you haven't attended a workshop, especially the one concerning rules and regulations," said Carter. "You wouldn't have committed this major career suicide by hazing Agent McGee, discriminating him on the grounds of his intellect and defaming his sexual preferences all over NCIS…"

"I didn't do it to harm him!" interrupted Tony. "I've told you before; it was to toughen him up so he could do the job!"

"Then could you explain how insulting Agent McGee thirty times per day, calling him a _"third wheel"_, a _"geek" _and a_ "coward_" in public would help him to be more efficient in his tasks?"

"But…"

"Please enlighten us, Agent DiNozzo: in your vast experience as a federal employee of the US government, could you kindly tell us how Super-Gluing a colleague's fingers to his computer's keyboard would accelerate the solving of a murder case?" asked Sewell in a voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Look…"

"Murders are no small matters, as we all know," said Carter. "And so, releasing the stress by laughing _**after**_ cases are solved is mandatory. However, laughing _**during**_ cases and at a colleague's expenses is disgraceful and beneath a federal agent. Agent McGee hasn't been hired so you could use him as your personal punching bag whenever murders are too gruesome or complicated, Agent DiNozzo: he has been recruited for the invaluable help he provides during investigations and, just for that, he's entitled to your respect."

"But that's not going to happen anytime soon, does it, Agent DiNozzo? Acknowledging your co-workers' skills is something that neither street-wise training nor Agent Gibbs had bothered to teach you."

"Let Gibbs out of this!" growled Tony dangerously.

"Are you going to **order** us around, Agent DiNozzo? I think you've forgotten your place!" asked Carter in an equally dangerous tone.

"Agent Carter, please!" interjected Fairbanks in an attempt to calm things down. "This is getting out of hands. We should give Agent DiNozzo a chance to explain his past actions."

"So far, your client has done a poor job in explaining them, Mister Fairbanks. He answers our questions with barely-repressed insolence that is revealing of his total lack of respect towards others."

"But you're right, Mister Fairbanks, we should hear your client's side of the story," said Sewell. "Please tell us, how do deliberately spreading calumnies about Agent McGee's sex life will have "_toughened him up"_ and readied him for the harsh realities a federal agent has to face, Agent DiNozzo?"

"Oh, come on! I've told you it was simply a matter of competition. I wanted to date those girls at Legal and I wanted to be sure McGee would not barge in and spoil my fun."

"Did Agent McGee ever express any interest towards these girls, Agent DiNozzo?" asked Stephens.

The question left Tony speechless for a minute.

"What did you say?"

"I repeat: did Agent McGee ever express an interest towards the ladies at Legal?"

"McGee, a hit on the ladies? You gotta be kidding! He's so shy and stupid when it comes to dating; he cannot talk to women without stuttering like a fool so all they do is laugh at his face before walking away. That's why he spends hours on the Internet, trying to make conversations with women on-line so they won't have to endure his speech impediment!"

"This is not what I've asked, Agent DiNozzo," said Stephens, his face looking like a thunderstorm cloud. Unknowingly to Tony, Stephens had a young son who stuttered and was therefore the perfect target for bullies at school. "For the third and hopefully the last time: has Agent McGee **ever** tried to **date** the ladies **you** coveted at Legal?"

Tony felt a shiver crawling up his spine as realization finally sank in; it was true Tim had never said he wanted to date Shirley, Amanda or Mary. In fact, Tony had overheard these women gossiping around the water fountain, saying between two fits of giggles that they would not mind feeling McGee's nimble fingers flying all over their bodies like he did on his computer keyboard. Furious by this potential competition coming from a green-as-grass probationer, Tony had greeted Shirley, Amanda and Mary by saying: _"Hello there, ladies! Wow, you really do embellish those bleak NCIS walls, you know! Too bad McGee is unable to appreciate female beauty: he swings the other way!"_ With retrospect, Tony remembered Amanda's crestfallen face and he had immediately proposed her a date. She had accepted but the Senior Agent would have never imagined Amanda would tell her homophobic brother about a man she had been told to be gay was working at NCIS... with disastrous consequences for Carl Simmons.

"Well, no…"

"So let me get this straight: you calumniated Agent McGee on purpose even though he was not a danger for you. You lied to co-workers, slandered your colleague and endangered him with malice aforethought, simply because you couldn't bear the thought of Agent McGee threatening your harem."

"Or your career," added Carter. "It could explain why you tricked Agent McGee into **not** volunteering for this mission in Iraq while you secretly filed up forms to enter the competition. But after you've been chosen for the mission, your undeserved triumph wouldn't have been complete without one last humiliation for your colleague, would it? And Director Vance became your innocent accomplice: he publicly scolded Agent McGee for his no-show, whereas **you** were the sole responsible for it."

"Oh, please! McGee could have volunteered for the mission if he had really wanted to, regardless of what I'd have said to him," protested Tony.

"But Agent McGee **trusted** you, Agent DiNozzo. He valued your word, your experience; he actually thought your advice was genuine; he should have known better, since lying to Agent McGee is your favorite pastime."

"Hey, I resent that!"

"But you've made a grave mistake, Agent DiNozzo: you've played Agent McGee for a fool, but also Director Vance and the committee members in charge of this Iraqi mission. Let me tell you they weren't happy learning about your scheming act – especially Director Vance. He appreciates ambition but he loathes lying climbers!"

Tony's face turned livid. _McGee had denounced him to Vance!_

"And don't try to put the blame on Agent McGee," intervened Sewell. "He did not tell Director Vance about your disloyalty while you were abroad – in fact, he didn't even mention it to Agent Gibbs. This is very unfortunate for you, but you keep forgetting that you work in an open space; several agents overheard your lies to Agent McGee… and let me tell you they were utterly disgusted by your actions. You'll understand how Director Vance got wind of this deplorable incident."

"Excuse me, Agent Sewell, but it looks like this is based on gossip and hearsay," said Fairbanks. "You cannot build a case against my client with this kind of declaration."

"Oh, it's not based on hearsay, Mister Fairbanks," said Sewell while taking out sheets of forms out of a file. "We have here several written statements from agents who had witnessed the whole incident. Since it is an internal matter, you'll understand why the agents' names have been censored on these documents… Please, take a look."

Fairbanks got up and took the papers Sewell handed out to him. The lawyer went through the documents with a worried look on his face, and Tony's anxiety reached a new peak. After a while, Fairbanks gave the statements back to Sewell and returned to his seat.

"How was it?" asked Tony with a low voice.

"It's not good, Agent DiNozzo," whispered the attorney back.

"Agent DiNozzo!" thundered Carter. "This is your last chance to explain yourself: can you present us valuable reasons to explain your past actions towards your co-workers, and especially Agent McGee?"

Tony felt outmaneuvered, outsmarted, and what was worse, out of arguments. His usual weapons – charm, blinding smile, movie quotes – had failed one after another and even righteous anger had not helped any. Gibbs had more or less told him to take whatever the review board would throw at him in order to keep a chance to salvage his career; even Fairbanks had not been able to rein in the review board members: another useless egghead graduate!

"No, I can't. All I can say is, I've tried to train McGee to the best of my abilities."

"Very well."

The three board members exchanged a few whispered words, and then Agent Carter said:

"Agent DiNozzo, it has clearly appeared during our sessions that you definitively lack basic skills in teamwork. Your callous attitude towards Agent McGee, from names-calling to the deliberate undermining of his career, prove a total disrespect of rules coupled with an oversized ego and a blatant despise towards clever people. This cannot be tolerated in a federal agency, Agent DiNozzo. Our nation is fighting terrorists all over the world, as well as criminals on our own soil; we cannot be weakened in our efforts against violence by agents who think of their workplace as a playground where they can harass and humiliate co-workers at their hearts' contents. Having a high crime-solving rate is **not** an excuse to behave like a school bully – in fact, it is a miracle you've managed to keep your badge for so long. Bullying is unacceptable in schools; therefore, it isn't authorized in federal agencies, either!"

"Consequently, you are demoted from your Senior Agent status for the next six months…"

"**WHAT?!"** shouted Tony, jumping on his feet in outrage. His chair toppled backwards and fell on the floor with a loud sound.

"… And you will follow a series of workshops during your probation – since you are long overdue to attend them – about NCIS' rules and regulations, first-aid on the field, team work, sexual harassment and appropriate comportment towards victims and their families. Your salary, health insurance and pension plans will be maintained during this period; you are forbidden to participate in murder investigations; your work at NCIS will be strictly restricted to the filing of cold cases..."

"You can't do that!"

"At the end of your probation, the review board will determine if you've made sufficient efforts and acquire enough knowledge to be re-instated in your functions. You can appeal of this decision, of course, but be warned this is your only chance to keep your job. Inappropriate behavior is not tolerated in federal agencies, no matter how charming and happy-go-lucky you may appear, and office clowns are a bother and a nuisance for everyone. We hope to see you in a better state of mind in six months, Agent DiNozzo; otherwise, we won't have any other option than to fire you. This session is finished."

Agent Carter snapped shut her file, and Tony felt as if a ton of bricks had fallen on his head.

TBC…


	34. A confession

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- HAPPY NEW YEAR 2013 TO ALL MY WONDERFUL READERS AND REVIEWERS! Here's a longer chapter to thank you for being so nice!

- To Guest and None: thanks for the reviews, you're too kind!

- _Rocky _is a 1976 American movie written by and starring Sylvester Stallone, directed by John G. Avildsen (from Wikipedia).

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 34: A confession<strong>

_A week later…_

"Ducky?"

The Medical Examiner raised his eyes from the surgical instruments he was cleaning up and saw Ziva standing on the morgue's threshold; as usual, he was pleased to see the young Israeli woman but after a few seconds, Ducky could sense a hint of trouble: Ziva looked lovely, as usual, but her eyes lacked their usual spark and her features had hardened, a telltale sign she was upset about something and this situation could lead to a very dangerous situation… for whoever the perpetrators were.

"Ziva, my dear! What brings you to my neck of the woods?"

The ex-Mossad officer smiled at those words – even though she could not comprehend the idea of Ducky having a wooden neck, but she trusted the elderly doctor to be always kind and nice – and entered the morgue thankfully empty of dead bodies or bloodied mutilated remnants. In fact, all the metallic slabs were sparking-clean, the air smelled of disinfectant and the desk was free of files or papers. The room was impeccable, ready to face another day of work with its usual amount of questions… and the upcoming arrival of a few corpses in a less-than-pristine condition.

"Hi, Ducky. Is Jimmy here?"

"No, he's at school and I don't expect him to be back before tomorrow afternoon. I can't believe he's so close to get his diploma. He has grown so much over the years! He'll be a fine M.E., much better than me. I'll retire happy with the thought of leaving this morgue in such capable hands; there are no doubts in my mind Mister Palmer (soon to be Doctor Palmer!) will provide you invaluable help for your investigations."

"That's great, Ducky," said Ziva as she seated on a nearby chair. Jimmy was indeed clever and capable, and she was convinced the young man would do a good job being in charge of the NCIS' morgue after Ducky's retirement. The overexcited, nervous Jimmy had matured a lot over the years and, with his engagement to Brianna, he would embrace the responsibilities of a family man pretty soon. But Ziva did not want to talk about Jimmy; a lot of things were burdening her mind and it had prompted her to seek Ducky's advice.

Sensing her discomfort, the ME put down the last scalpel he had finished cleaning, and then casually asked:

"Would you like a cup of tea, my dear?"

"Oh yes, Ducky. It would be very nice!"

"Just sit tight, and I will brew us a cup of comforting Earl Grey."

Within minutes, the tea was ready and served in a service of fine china the older man kept safely in a cupboard, for 'special occasions'. He added biscuits on a place and sachets of sugar borrowed from the coffee room upstairs. Once he and Ziva were served and sipped on the Earl Grey, Ducky decided to ask a direct question:

"What's troubling you, Ziva? You look like you are carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders."

"It feels like it, Ducky. Since Tim left for Afghanistan, nothing has been right for the team. His departure has really opened a can of slugs."

"A can of _worms_, my dear, and yes, it has. I'm afraid Timothy has been overlooked for a too long time by Jethro and his colleagues; after years of callousness, name-calling and belittling, Timothy had finally enough of our shortcomings and had left for greener pastures."

"What, in the desert? But I thought…"

"It's a figure of speech, Ziva, and it means leaving a place in the hopes for finding better persons somewhere else. Jethro, Abigail and Anthony are currently learning the hard way that it has been a grave mistake to take patient Timothy for granted whereas he can fight back like everybody else. He gave us a chance, then another one, and then another one for years, in the hopes we would finally stop criticizing him. Unfortunately, patience has its limits and Timothy has reached his a long time ago, but we were too caught up in our egos to take notice of his growing distress. And then, a General came out of nowhere and gave Timothy the thing he carved the most for: respect."

"I know, Ducky," said Ziva with a sigh. "We should have praised Tim more, instead of pestering him for his genius, his phobias or his books. Did you know he has been the only one to greet me when I first came to NCIS? _The only one_! Gibbs had a face like granite; Tony was furious for me sitting on Kate's chair; Abby looked as if I were an extra-terrestrial. I didn't expect a warm welcome, I knew you would all be traumatized by Kate's death but I didn't imagine it would be so difficult. And yet, in spite of his sorrow, Tim showed me around, gave me an organization chart of NCIS and he even configured my computer so I could use it right away."

Ziva's eyes turned into volcanic stones as she carried on: "He acted like a real gentleman, Ducky, and how did I thank him for his kindness? By laughing at him! By invading his home with Tony to mock his hobbies! By driving like a maniac because he has based one of his characters on me, even though he was scared out of his mind and he strained his neck in the process! I've been a total jerk towards him and you cannot imagine… how much I regret it."

"Now, now, my dear! Please don't distress yourself! I am certain Timothy has forgiven you years ago."

"He did, Ducky, and I feel even worse for it. Tim is so kind, so understanding… I used to think people like him existed only in the Bible so it was quite a surprise to meet one in the flesh, but what do I do? I make my 'tough-girl' number and acted like an ungrateful, selfish fool instead of being a good colleague to him."

The M.E. put down his cup of tea on the table, and looked at the ex-Mossad officer straight in the eyes.

"Ziva, if I tell you something without presenting any tangible proofs of what I'm saying, would you believe me nonetheless?"

"Ducky, I trust you as much as I do Gibbs."

"Then, my dear, I can assure you Timothy bears absolutely no grudge towards you. No matter what you've done in the past, he has forgiven and forgotten it; besides, he knows you haven't had an easy time since you've started working for NCIS: you had to replace a dead agent, learn the English language, investigate gruesome murders, and last but not the least your liaison status got abruptly terminated… Timothy is aware of the difficulties you overcame, as they are quite similar to the ones he faced after Gibbs recruited him. Besides, you realized your past attitude was unjust towards him and you've **changed** **your ways**, which is a lot more than some persons can say."

"But being mean to Tim and then befriending him… Doesn't that make me a hypocrate, Ducky?"

"A _hypocrite_, Ziva, and the answer is no. You've recognized the errors of your ways and you've made amends without taking Timothy's forgiveness for granted."

"It is all thanks to Tim, Ducky. He has such a good influence on me, like on everybody else! I thought accepting his kindness would weaken me somehow, but in fact it has made me stronger," said Ziva with a small smile.

"He gave you a second chance and you seized it like the intelligent, caring person you are under your Mossad tough-as-nails' carapace, whereas other people have rejected Timothy's kindness out of pride or malice. You are definitively not a hypocrite, my dear: you are a good friend and doubtless you would go straight into the bowels of Hell to rescue Timothy, if needed."

Ziva suddenly remembered a conversation she had with Tim a few weeks before his departure; they were walking down the streets of DC while discussing a murder case where it turned out the victims had been gunned down by a man wanting to avenge the death of a friend…

_(Flashback)_

"_I don't understand it, Tim," had said Ziva on their way back to the office. "This guy goes on a killing rampage because of his friend's death, even though he hasn't seen him for what, ages? I really don't understand."_

"_Well, Ziva, look at it this way. You and I are friends, right?"_

"_Yes, of course."_

"_So, imagine the following situation: you and I don't see each other for several years and then, all of a sudden, you learn that I've been murdered. What would you do?"_

_The young woman's reaction had been instantaneous: "I'D TRACK YOUR MURDERER 'TILL THE ENDS OF THE EARTH AND THEN I'D SKIN HIM ALIVE BEFORE GUTTING HIM AND… Oh, I see what you mean."_

"_The guy must have had a strong bond with his buddy and that's why he won't stop until all the men responsible for his friend's death are killed. But he doesn't care about bystanders caught in the cross-fire; we have to stop him or there'll be innocent victims."_

_(End flashback)_

Ziva had been sincere in her statement; she would destroy anyone who would dare laying a finger on Tim and she was not the kind to made idle threats – plus, her Mossad training had taught her the techniques to dispose of a body without leaving traces. Tim and Ziva had come a long way, with him slowly overcoming his shyness and she mellowing her inflexible temper a little, to evolve into fine federal agents, the best of NCIS, the ones who were put in charge of the most difficult cases.

She also remembered how fine Tim had looked that day, wearing dark jeans and a striped shirt under a black jacket. It had been the first time she had noticed his weight loss…

"You said good-bye to Timothy before he left for his mission abroad; haven't you, my dear?" asked the Scottish man with a smile, looking at the young woman over the rim of his cup. Ziva turned to him with rounded eyes:

"That's right, but how do you…?"

"Ah, a little birdie told me, since I am a duck and birds of a feather flock together."

"I'm sorry?" asked the Israeli woman, clearly confused by those idioms involving egg-laying feathered creatures.

"To be precise: I overheard a conversation between two agents in the men's room while I was locked inside one of the stalls. Jethro may not pay any attention to scuttlebutt but Heavens knows it is revealing of a workplace's ambiance! Anyway, those men unaware of my presence were commenting your visit to Timothy – apparently, they had been informed by a third person who had listened to a conversation you've had with Anthony in the bullpen – and they were pleasantly surprised by your initiative: they had thought for sure Jethro was too furious to allow you and your teammates to contact the pariah."

"But you saw Tim as well, Ducky!"

"That's right and Mister Palmer paid him a visit, too. But neither he nor I have the same status as you, Anthony or Abigail. Jethro is my friend, not my boss: consequently, I can go as I please – including doing things he disapproves of. And I am Mister Palmer's supervisor, thus he answers only to me. You, on the other hand, are under Jethro's direct orders but you had been more concerned by Timothy's feelings than by your boss' and it gave you the courage to go to his place and bid him farewell."

Ziva munched on a biscuit in an effort to get rid of the sorrowful lump that was growing inside her throat. She was glad she had given Tim a knife for extra protection and they had parted on very good terms but, in spite of her past experience with the exigencies of secret missions, she found the silence and the wait very tedious!

"I miss Tim, Ducky," whispered the young woman.

"So do I, my dear. The waiting is hard, isn't it? All this secrecy and hush-hush is getting on our nerves…. Knowing Timothy, he must be pretty sad not being allowed to send letters or e-mails to reassure us. The only thing that keeps hope in my heart is the expression on Director Vance's face: I've surprised myself spying on him, watching his coming and goings to MTAC every Friday and so far, Vance looks satisfied – as much as I can tell from his usual stony expression, that is!"

That actually brought a laugh from Ziva: "His parents should have named him Rocky, not Leon!"

Ducky chuckled lightly as he imagined Director Vance in a Stallone-like posture, standing in the middle of a boxing ring with a crowd of admirers roaring in the background, and then his expression turned serious again:

"Tell me, Ziva, how are things faring upstairs?"

The young woman's good mood faded immediately and she made a face before taking another biscuit to calm herself down. Things had taken a turn for the worse after Tony had come back from his review board fuming, outraged and ready to fight the rest of the world. Gibbs and she had barely the time to grab Tony and take him to an impromptu meeting in the conference room so he wouldn't make another scandal in the bullpen. Tony had ranted and raved for five minutes non-stop about his demotion to Junior Agent and then, Gibbs head-slapped him to calm him down but it had not been a wise move: Tony had looked as if he was going to shoot him. He even said to Gibbs he would kill him if he head-slapped him again and the Team Leader answered Tony was welcome to try. For a brief instant, Ziva had thought they would come to blows so she stepped in and said she would kill them both if they did not behave and no jury would 'convince' her.

Thankfully, the ex-Mossad threat had worked and a fight had been avoided; but Tony had been absolutely furious by the review board's decision. He wanted to appeal it but Gibbs told him it would spell the end of his career; he had been given a chance to win his rank back by attending workshops, work like an archivist and, first and foremost, admitting his past attitude has been inappropriate towards Tim. That last point had infuriated Tony to no end; he stated he had not done anything wrong, nothing at all and he would be damned to Hell before apologizing to Probie since he was the one who had screwed up in the first place.

"It isn't good, Ducky. After Tony has said that, Gibbs simply shook his head and he went back to the bullpen without adding another word. Tony went home as he was too upset to even consider working; I knocked at his door in the evening, to try and cheer him up but he wasn't in the mood for companionship so I didn't insist. Tony is only the shell of himself, Ducky: he's tight-lipped, barely talks to Gibbs and he looks like a bomb that will explode any minute. He may have done some mistakes in the past, but it's awful to see him like this! And we don't even have work to ease our minds because Team Gibbs has been breached…"

"Don't you mean 'benched', my dear?"

"Yes, put off cases since we are missing a computer tech, a forensic scientist and a Senior Agent. And who knows what's going to happen to Gibbs during his review board session? If the review members ever decide to fire him, then it'll be the proverbial straw breaking the camel's back – Team Gibbs will cease to exist, and there won't be any other choice for Tony, Abby and I than to be assigned to other teams to keep our jobs."

"Have faith, Ziva; Jethro has faced harsher situations than attending a review board. He may be brusque but I am certain he will convince the board members that he is sincerely sorry for the whole situation, so Team Gibbs won't be disassembled again. But I am seriously considering having a talk with Anthony, to try and stop him from blaming Timothy for this mess. God, it would destroy that poor boy," said the ME, his blue eyes darkening behind his rounded glasses. "He already has a knack for shouldering responsibilities that are not his in the first place, and he'll be shattered learning his departure has kicked up such a fuss. In a way, I'm grateful he's currently sheltered from all this turmoil."

"Tim's innocent, Ducky. All he ever did was accepting a mission in Afghanistan to protect American soldiers, which was a noble act from his part. Gibbs has accepted Tim's motives and so did you, Jimmy and I; then, why can't Tony and Abby do the same? Why do they think throwing accusations all over the place would make Tim come back?"

"It is Anthony's and Abigail's way to deny the fact Timothy has reached _independence_. He doesn't turn to Anthony any more for advice about investigating crime scenes or interrogating suspects; he doesn't need Abigail as an 'on-off' girlfriend because he is no longer scared of having a love life; by Jove, he has even ceased to consider Jethro like a mentor, since he is experienced enough to make his own decisions! We have missed the fact Timothy has turned into a very good agent and we are currently paying the price for our negligence – but it is harder for Anthony and Abigail: evolution is far slower for them and they'd fight tooth and nails rather than admit that, in the end, Timothy has beaten them at the 'earning competences' game."

Ziva sighed again as she remembered her farewells to Tim, in his flat. It had felt so nice to hug him, to feel his strong, warm body against hers. Kind, courageous, handsome, brilliant, caring, handsome, intelligent Tim…

Had she thought _handsome_ twice?

"My dear? Are you still with me?" asked Ducky's voice.

"Hunh? Oh, yes! Sorry about that…"

"I could be mistaken, Ziva, but you're blushing! Do you have somebody in mind? Hmmm, maybe you were thinking about Timothy?" asked the M.E. with a strange twinkle in his eyes.

Ziva's first reaction – forged by years of undercover jobs – would have been to immediately deny such a thing, and then being furious at herself for having let her guard down but reason whispered inside her brains that she was not having a discussion with a suspect while working on a case. She was enjoying a cup of tea in company of the world's most affable M.E., in a deserted morgue and she felt the need to confess something that had been burdening her mind for a few weeks. Besides, she could rely on Ducky's discretion; the older man was like a surrogate uncle to her and he was not afraid of Gibbs' pathological need to control everything – including his subordinates' private life.

"Ducky, can you keep a secret?"

"You know I can, so please talk freely. We have the morgue to ourselves and my patients are not of the gossiping kind."

"It's… It's strange to say, but I think my feelings towards Tim have changed."

The Scottish man raised one of his eyebrows in surprise!

"Really, my dear?"

"Yes."

"And they have changed… how? Have they grown?"

"Yes," whispered the Israeli woman, feeling like a fool or a teenage girl, whichever came first.

"And has this growth turned into an evolution, far enough to reach a sentimental sphere?"

"Yes. Oh, Ducky!" exclaimed Ziva, jumping on her feet. "How did this happen? I've had a rough beginning with Tim; like Tony, I wrongly thought him too soft for the job and I pushed him around to show him how we dealt with murder cases at Mossad. But he never got angry with me; in fact, he kept on correcting my English and giving information about American life and traditions so I could adapt to the job more easily! After I realized his kindness was genuine, I got so ashamed of myself that I tried to rein in Tony and his stupid jokes – with more or less success, I admit – but I truly considered Tim as the gentle, caring brother I've never had. I couldn't consider him otherwise since I was involved with Ray and Tim struggled with Abby's whims; there was also the matter of Gibbs' rule 12, _'Never date a co-worker'_ and we all know better than to trespass his set of rules!"

Ducky decided to not correct the idiomatic mistake, as the time was for listening and not for teaching.

"Our respective sentimental affairs failed one after another, and then one day at the office I've surprised myself looking at Tim and thinking it would be nice to have a boyfriend who would be kind like him. It was about the same time Tim has started dieting – slowly at the beginning, and then the results became undeniable. Tony was crossed because he couldn't insult Tim about being fat anymore and he was sorely afraid women at NCIS would make eyes at his rival. Once, I've said Tim had a 9 out of 10 bottom while Tony had only a 6 out of 10 one – mostly because Tony was annoying me with his constant flirting attempts, but I was also sincere about Tim's backside. You should have seen Tony's reaction!"

"He didn't take it too well, I suppose."

"No, and he couldn't say enough _'McFat'_, _'McOverweight' _or_ 'McTubby'_ nicknames to make certain Tim wouldn't try to court the ladies, or me. Gibbs had to head-slap Tony about five times per day to make him shut up and I wouldn't have minded adding a few hits of my own, as it was getting tedious. And Tim didn't only lose weight: he replaced the fat with muscles and he looks absolutely fine now."

"It has been another victory of Timothy over his insecurities, my dear. He has gained this weight by spending too long hours behind his computers, hiding from the world and munching on candy bars. Once he got out of his shyness and started to get a personal life, he became more self-conscious and tried to improve his looks. Of course, he had his share of bad luck with the fair sex…"

Ziva grumbled something in Hebrew under her breath; Ducky could not understand the words, but they were certainly not flattering ones about Tim's former girlfriends: "You mean those women who preyed upon him for his money, and the serial killer who stole his credit cards? Or that detestable Amanda who tried to kill him in the bullpen? I wanted to kick their posteriors, but Gibbs stopped me!"

"Now, my dear, as I've said, don't get all worked up! Try to concentrate on the matter at hand; what are you going to do, considering your sentiments towards Timothy?"

"But what _**can**_ I do, Ducky? I can't write or phone him; I don't have the slightest idea of his location in Afghanistan. Only Vance has access to him via MTAC but the Director is way too angry with our team for the moment to grant me the favor to talk to Tim. And there's also the matter of his special project: there is a lot of secrecy around it and I'd hate myself if Tim ever gets endangered simply because I insisted on talking to him. Also, Vance may not believe my feelings towards Tim are genuine, and I wouldn't blame him: I laughed too many times alongside Tony…"

"Well, maybe I can help you in this matter, my dear."

Ziva's dark eyes shone with renewed ardor: "Really, Ducky?"

"Why, yes. I happen to have a good relationship with Director Vance and we have never crossed swords in the past. Consequently, if I come up to him and tell him a certain person would like to talk to Timothy via MTAC, with my personal guarantee there wouldn't be a hint of criticism in this conversation, then the Director may relent and let you in. Knowing Timothy, he'll be delighted to see you on a videoconference screen. I trust you to be careful in your choice of words and avoid mentioning the office."

"I'll let Director Vance stay during our conversation, if needed!"

"But it will take time before you'll be authorized to enter MTAC and keep in mind, my dear, that if you ever manage to talk to Timothy, then you'll be pressured for information by Jethro, Anthony and Abigail. It would place you in a very awkward position, since they are desperate to know how Timothy is faring in Afghanistan – including Mister Palmer and me – and Director Vance will probably forbid you to say a word about your chats with our agent abroad. Are you ready to endure this extra pressure, when your team is already in shambles and the relations between its members aren't too great for the moment?"

Ziva thought about it for a minute; she truly wanted to talk to Tim, as his absence was driving her crazy. The young man haunted her thoughts day and night, and she would have sold her knife collection on the spot for a chance to see with her own eyes that he was well. But Ducky was right: if Vance ever granted her the chance to see Tim on an MTAC screen (and it was a big IF involved there), then this favor could exasperate Tony and Abby's anger towards the computer tech. Plus, Gibbs could resent the fact that a Junior Agent had been allowed to communicate with Tim instead of him, a Team Leader! However, her voice did not falter as she answered:

"I'm willing to take this risk, Ducky."

"Good girl! But like I've said, we shouldn't count our chickens before they've hatched: Director Vance has the absolute control over communications to Timothy and our attempt to send a messenger pigeon to Afghanistan may be shot down before it can ever get off the ground. In fact, our demand may ruffle the Director's feathers in a very bad way and we'll have to walk on eggshells for a long time to reach our goal."

"Ducky, I'm sorry, but why are you talking about birds again?" asked a puzzled ex-Mossad officer.

* * *

><p><em>Meanwhile, at ISAF…<em>

"You look quite content, Lieutenant McGee. May I ask you why?" asked Captain Wilkins. She was on night duty but Tim had nonetheless proposed her to share a coffee at the hospital's lounge. Aimee had immediately accepted, since all was quiet and the patients were asleep; the break room was within a stone's throw of her office and the nurses on night shift would raise the alarm at once if a patient's condition would suddenly deteriorate.

Tim raised his emerald-colored irises towards the doctor seated in front of him, but he could not tell the reason of his happiness: he had run twenty tests in a row with The Watcher at the base's courtyard and all the tests have been conclusive! Very pleased by the results, General Stephenson had given his agreement to conduce essays out in the desert, with Corporal Roberts driving the Humvee and two soldiers as bodyguards. The trip was not to last more than an hour but Tim was certain The Watcher would be able to detect ambushed enemies or, even worse, landmines buried on the road, lying in wait to spread destruction for incoming vehicles.

"Well, er… I am to make my first trip outside ISAF to meet a local builder, about a project to construct a hospital building twenty miles from Kabul," answered Tim, clinging to his Finance Corps officer personae.

"That's wonderful! Moving away medical help from the city will be of the greatest help for the rural population who doesn't have access to motor vehicles. Too many patients have to be transported on donkeys or bicycles and they don't survive the trip. Will you be leaving soon?"

"Tomorrow morning."

"You are not going on your own, I hope?" asked Aimee with a hint of worry in her voice.

"Oh, no! I'm leaving with three other soldiers."

"But you don't have an interpreter with you? How will you communicate with the builder?"

"Well, he has spent some time in England before the Taliban reign and he hasn't forgotten his English… And I've learned a few words of Pashtu from the handbook that has been given to me upon my arrival at ISAF," said Tim, telling a half-truth. The builder existed only in his imagination but he had studied the handbook and it had revealed a lot of information about life in Afghanistan, including an index of useful words like_ 'Hello', 'Good-bye', 'Water', 'Sun', 'Enemy', 'Alarm' _and so on. Also, Ducky's notebook had provided Tim with some extra idioms and expressions; even though the young man was not presumptuous enough to think he had reached an interpreter's level, he could try to understand a few words in a conversation between Pashtu-speaking people.

"You have read the handbook? That's amazing!" exclaimed Aimee, genuinely surprised. "I was certain to be the only one at ISAF who has bothered to read it… But I haven't been able to learn a few words of Pashtu, though. When it comes to foreign languages, I'm a flop!"

"Yes, well hopefully it will be enough to conclude a quick deal with the builder; General Stephenson doesn't want me to leave ISAF for too long…"

"Well, if this contact has spent some time in England, he'll understand Westerners don't follow preliminaries to go straight to business. And it's no wondering why the General wants you to go back to the base as soon as possible; after all his questions about a man wounded on the thigh I fear we have won ourselves an intruder!"

The mention of an intruder pulled Tim out of his blissful state created by The Watcher's success; he had put his fight with the showers' room aggressor on his mind's backburner but Aimee had innocently reminded how close he had been to become one of her patients.

"An intruder?" repeated the young man.

"Yes. Oh, of course, the whole matter has been dealt with very discreetly as it is useless to alarm the troopers, but you don't make inquiries about a wounded man without a good reason and Stephenson was adamant: he wanted to know at once if a man has requested to be treated for a knife wound on the leg, but so far no one has showed up at the hospital with this kind of injury."

"What do you think could have happened?" asked Tim quietly.

"My best guess? A soldier tried to go over the wall and he has been spotted by the MPs, but instead of surrendering he fought back and got knifed on the leg for his troubles. Since he couldn't go to the hospital as we would have asked him embarrassing questions, he bandaged his wound by himself in the hopes it would heal, but he's a fool. With the temperatures here and the high risk of developing gangrene, he'll be betrayed by a limp or the foul odors coming from his cut and then, he'd better watch out! General Stephenson has no sympathy for those who make a mockery of the rules. The intruder's days are numbered, mark my words."

Tim nodded at Aimee's words; it made sense, but there was a problem: almost a week had passed since the Dark Dove had cut deep into the intruder's leg, but so far nobody had asked for this nasty wound to be treated and it could mean only two things: either the man had left the base and deserted, either he had somehow found a way to get medical help outside ISAF and both solutions did not bore well for the future…

"Lieutenant?"

"Yes?" asked Tim, snapping out of his reverie. He suddenly realized Aimee's fingertips were touching his' on the lounge's round table.

"Just… Watch yourself while out of ISAF, will you?"

"Oh, I will! Be assured that I will, Captain."

"Good," said Aimee, and Tim thought her fingertips felt very soft.

TBC…


	35. A session - part 3

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche (1844-1900) was a German philosopher and poet. His book _Beyond Good and Evil: Prelude to a Philosophy of the Future_ was first published in 1886.

- Confucius (551 B.C. – 479 B.C.) was a Chinese teacher, editor, politician and philosopher.

- To None, Guest and Lisa: thank you for your reviews!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 35: A session – part 3 <strong>

_A few days later…_

"Please state your full name and rank for the record."

"Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs, NCIS," answered the silver-haired man seated in front of three review board members. Unlike Tony, he had paid no mind about his appearance; his clothes were clean, for sure, but he had opted for the casual style he wore every day instead of the suit-and-tie dear to his Senior Agent. He had not bothered to go to the barber's shop for a vain attempt to de-dramatize his buzz-cut hair and he had his best 'cut-the-crap' face on, the one that used to scare Jimmy Palmer out of his mind – until his youngest son had left for Afghanistan.

His departure had certainly had given Jimmy a confidence boost; in fact, a few days ago he had openly said to Gibbs that he did not deserve to have a good agent like McGee, even though the Team Leader was glaring at the young man in full force. Ducky had later expressed his regrets for his assistant's attitude but ex-Marine had just brushed off the incident as he had more important matters in mind; besides, Jimmy was telling the truth and blaming his frankness would be hypocritical from lie-hater Gibbs. He had never thought the Autopsy Gremlin had it in him, though!

Gibbs had not followed the advice he had given to Tony and he had come without a legal representative – according to his rule no. 13: _"Never, ever involve a lawyer"_. After three divorces, he had had his share with lawyers and besides, it would have been pointless for this review board. If everything went according to his four-steps plan, the session would be cut short and Gibbs would: A) keep his job, B) protect his team from further damages and C) be free to make some urgent phone calls. The evening before, he had received a message in his voicemail from an unidentified man, mumbling like he was speaking from the other side of the world. Gibbs could not be sure, but the voice sounded like Burt Butler's, the ex-military-turned-mercenary. Butler could have his picture in the dictionary, next to the word _'Unscrupulous'_ but he was ressourceful and could find information in the middle of a conflict, in exchange of cold hard cash.

Gibbs turned his blue eyes towards the three men looking at him from across a table cluttered with files and papers, just like for the previous session. The Team Leader's strategy was drawn; his adversaries were standing in front of him; it was time to move into action...

One of the agents, a balding man with glasses perched on his long nose, spoke:

"Agent Gibbs, these persons are Agent Walken and Agent Franklin; I am Agent Clifford. As you are aware of, allegations have been made against you about…"

"Let's get a move on, shall we?" interrupted Gibbs while thinking: _"Step One: disconcert the adversary"._

Clifford he frowned at the silver-haired man who had so rudely interrupted him. The thin, blonde Agent Walken squirmed lightly on his seat whereas Agent Franklin, a man of Asian ascent, remained impassible.

"Agent Gibbs, in case it has escaped your attention, we are not suspects in one of your murder investigations. If you opt for this kind of attitude, we will add _"Insolence"_ to the long list of allegations made against you," said Agent Clifford severely.

"Not insolence, merely stating the truth. None of us want to be here, so why waste time?"

"Yes, well, unfortunately you are not the game master here. This review board session will last as long as its members will decide, while you are bound to stay on this chair and answer until we've run out of questions. Is that clear?"

Gibbs barely repressed the urge to roll his eyes. He was playing Clifford like a marionnette on strings and the agent was not even aware of it.

"Yeah."

"Good. Now, could you tell us for how long you've been working at NCIS?"

"About twenty years."

"What were you doing before joining NCIS?"

"Marine Gunnery Sergeant, Scout Sniper and military police non-commissioned officer. Honorably discharged after the Desert Storm operation."

"What your duties at NCIS are?"

"Team Leader. MCRT."

"Would you care to elaborate?"

"I lead federal agents of the Major Case Response Team, investigating Navy-related murders."

"And what are those persons composing your team?"

"Special Agents David, DiNozzo and McGee; forensic scientist Sciuto; M.E. Doctor Mallard and his assistant, Palmer," said Gibbs in a monotonous voice.

Agent Clifford's frown deepened even more; the ex-Marine seemed to be bored out of his mind by the session and acted as if he was force to tell his life's story to an unresponsive drunk in a seedy bar. Agent Walken faked to look at papers disposed on the table to keep a bit of composure as Gibbs' nonchalance somehow unnerved him, but Agent Franklin did not even blink. Unlike his colleague, he was not impressed by Gibbs' reputation but he nonetheless respected his military career and he sensed that, somehow, the short answers were part of a hidden agenda.

"And what is the organization chart of your team, Agent Gibbs?"

"DiNozzo is Senior field Agent; McGee was Junior Agent until Agent David was added to the team. She had a Mossad liaison status until she chose to quit and I hired her immediately afterwards."

"So, Agent McGee should have become Agent DiNozzo's partner after Agent David replaced him as the Junior Agent of your team, correct?"

Gibbs did not like where this conversation was heading, but for his stragegy's sakes he answered nonetheless:

"Yeah."

"Now that's odd, Agent Gibbs; according to our sources, Agent David was partnered with Agent DiNozzo to work on the field shortly after she has arrived at NCIS. In fact, it has been confirmed you often relegated Agent McGee to surveillance and computer data-retrieving while DiNozzo and David do the heavy work. It was a very strange move from your part, since Agent McGee was way more experienced than Agent David as a field agent and therefore, he would have made a better partner for Agent DiNozzo."

"I put my agents where they are the best!" growled Gibbs. "McGee is a genius when it comes to computers; he can crack codes, find clues through the Internet, and detect a car via satellite in a blink of an eye. We would be blind without him!"

"And once he has given you all the needed data to arrest the culprits, he has to sit back and leave the spotlight for your favorites like a good subaltern; otherwise, the consequences would be severe. Am I right, Agent Gibbs?" asked Agent Clifford.

The ex-Marine's eyes turned into blue icebergs.

"Not true."

"I beg to differ! It is, in fact, the main allegation that has been made against you. Agent Franklin?"

"According to this declaration made by a NCIS agent who will remain anonymous: _"It is a well-known fact that Agent Gibbs uses favoritism to lead his team and the main benefactors are Agent DiNozzo, Agent David and forensic scientist Sciuto. If you don't belong to Gibbs' club of favorites, then you can be shot and killed by a terrorist for all he cares. In fact, it has happened more than once in the past for Agent McGee: he has been put in mortal danger many times and yet, Agent Gibbs has never bothered to ask how he was faring. On the other hand DiNozzo, David and Sciuto benefit from his full attention whenever they get a paper cut – especially Sciuto!"_

Gibbs kept his tough-as-nails face on, but Agent Franklin – who was pretty good at reading expressions – caught a glimpse of emotion in the unblinking blue eyes. Strike one for the review board!

"What do you have to say to this, Agent Gibbs?"

"I don't listen to scuttlebutt and neither should you," answered Gibbs as Step Two_: "Back off to give adversary the illusion of gaining ground" _sprung inside his mind. He would have to be more loquacious for the next questions, to give the board members the illusion that he was losing control whereas he was in fact leading them right where he wanted them to be.

Agent Walken mopped his forehead with a paper tissue; he was suffering for a nasty bout of stomachache and interviewing the most feared Team Leader of NCIS did not improve his condition at all. He longed to go home, swallow some medication and be fussed upon by his wife, but considering Gibbs' attitude this review board session could take hours! The ex-Marine had noticed his discomfort, though, and he was resolute in using it to his advantage.

"Well, maybe you should have, Agent Gibbs; you'd have been aware that, in spite of your team's impressive crime-solving record, your reputation within and outside NCIS is of, and I quote, _"an absolute bastard"_, _"a jerk" _and_ "the worst boss on Earth"_. Do you realize other agents advice probationers to avoid you like the plague, and to never volunteer in case a position opens in your team?"

"That's good, because no position will open in my team anytime soon! I only work with the best and I have the best, so why should I bother training probies?" said Gibbs with a hint of deliberate arrogance.

"Well, it appears you had to deal with probationers a few times in your life, Agent Gibbs, namely Agents DiNozzo, David and McGee. Unless I'm mistaken, these persons started their careers at the bottom of the food chain like everybody else – including you. What's intriguing, however, is their evolution within your team. DiNozzo has been promoted to Senior Agent whereas his clownish attitude, blatant disrespect towards Agent McGee and occasional vandalism should have earned him numerous reprimands on his record and thus, prevented him to acquire a senior status. Agent David is proficient with weapons but her social skills leave a lot to be desired – in fact, it has been reported many times that she threaten co-workers as well as suspects with bodily harm, which is against the NCIS rules and regulations as noted in section 2, rule 2.3-1: _"Extorting confessions from suspects by using physical violence, threats against the suspects' families, psychological blackmail or psychoactive drugs is strictly forbidden."_"

"What the Hell do you want us to do, handle suspects with kids' gloves?" said Gibbs. His temper was getting the better of him but it would also serve Step Two. "Time is the essence when investigating murder cases; we have to find out if other victims are targeted or the guilty party is trying to flee the country, or is involved in drug or weapons trafficking. We are dealing with matters that could threaten national security, for crying out loud! That's why I put pressure on my teammates to the maximum as we cannot afford to waste time with niceties and yes, sometimes we can be rough on suspects but it isn't for the fun of it."

"_He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster. And when you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you,_" interfered Agent Franklin.

"Says who?" shot Gibbs back.

"Says Nietzsche, the German philosopher."

Gibbs huffed in disdain; he was already deep in reading "The Analects" by Confucius, following Penny's suggestion and he found it difficult to understand the old Chinese guy. He could not bother trying another philosopher for the time being!

"It is a well-known fact that Agent McGee had to endure Agent DiNozzo's taste for bullying and boasting; in fact, Agent DiNozzo has constantly ridiculed Agent McGee, tried to take the credit for McGee's hard work to increase his personal glory and, last but not the least, has deliberately removed him from the competition to be granted a mission in Iraq. How elegant! The living embodiment of a federal agent! Is it true you consider Agent DiNozzo as your surrogate son and worthy successor?"

"**None of your business!"** barked Gibbs as he thought: _"Step Three: use anger while faking having lost ground"._

"I beg to differ, it is **our** business," said Walken, speaking for the first time. "For your information, Agent DiNozzo's attitude at work gives a poor example of your training. In a nutshell, your philosophy appears that in order to be a good federal agent you have to be rude, inconsiderate and disrespectful – which is the exact opposite of NCIS'."

"Yeah, well, I don't give a damn about this. Tony may goof around, but he's loyal and efficient."

"He's certainly loyal to **you** since you are his mentor, and also to **your favorites**, Agent David and Miss Sciuto. When it comes to Agent McGee, though… That's another story."

Gibbs' first reaction would have to jump over the table and strangle Agent Walken just for the principle of it, but it would not be a wise move since it would destroy his plans and Tony's disastrous review board was still fresh in everyone's mind. The ex-Marine was not concerned by the outcomes for his own career but Tony had to be protected – being demoted was bad enough and the young man did not need a sacked boss on top of everything.

"_Strike two for the review board,"_ thought a sardonic Agent Franklin.

"Agent David seemed to have bettered her attitude towards Agent McGee, but out of her own initiative and not because she has been advised to do so by you or Agent DiNozzo," said Clifford. "She is also known to have earned your respect early on by her proficiency with knives and her Mossad training, which are things you could easily relate to as a military man."

"In fact, Agent Gibbs, you seem to respect only persons with military or police experience, which may help to explain why Agent McGee doesn't belong to your very exclusive club of favorites," finished Walken."

"**Say that again?"**, shouted the silver-haired man.

"Agent Gibbs! Keep your temper at bay!" exclaimed Clifford.

A moment of uneasy silence followed, with Gibbs looking daggers at Walken (nearly causing the board member to vomit, due to stress and his stomachache) while Franklin inwardly counted the seconds before the upcoming explosion and Clifford was getting ready to defend his colleague. Then, Gibbs threw caution to the winds, put his stragey on _'hold'_ for a minute and growled dangerously:

"Tim McGee is an equally important member of my team and if you try to twist my words, you'll find them shoved down your throat!"

"We'll see about it later, Agent Gibbs," continued Agent Clifford, obviously annoyed by Gibbs' outburst. "Right now, we have the matter of Miss Abigail Sciuto to consider."

Gibbs' expression turned murderous, making Agent Walken to groan softly from his stomach in turmoil.

"What about her?"

"It has been reported that you greatly favor her, Agent Gibbs – a bit too much for the comfort of other NCIS agents. Speculations about you two being romantically involved have flown over the years throughout the agency, until it has been established that she has replaced your deceased daughter in your affections…"

"Careful," growled Gibbs.

"And thus, Miss Sciuto seems to think that she is allowed to do as she likes in this agency, making a mockery of the NCIS rules and regulations in general. She has requested a laboratory all for her, whereas the agency's rules state that forensic scientists should always be partnered in teams of two persons to the minimum, in case an accident should happen in the lab – a computer can short-circuit, a screen can explode, an experiment with chemicals can go wrong. But Miss Sciuto obviously considers having an assistant as a personal insult, since she has steadfastly refused to have one…"

"Stop right here! Abby did ask for an assistant in the past, but every time her demands had been turned down for budget reasons. And then, Director Shepard assigned her that bastard Charles Sterling, who wanted to frame Agent DiNozzo for murder before trying to kill Abby! It's no wonder why she is suspicious of new people at the lab!"

"Lame excuse, Agent Gibbs! It happened years ago," countered Agent Clifford. "Miss Sciuto should have recovered from it by now so she seems to be a lot less 'tough' than her sexy Goth attire suggests her to be. If she's still shaken from the Charles Sterling incident, then she should ask for help from the agency's psychiatrist instead of barricading herself in the lab and turn it into a discotheque, complete with loud music, wild dancing and colored lights, which greatly annoy the other scientists who would rather have some peace and quiet in their workplace. Then again, why would she be assigned an assistant since she does have an unofficial one with Agent McGee, doesn't she? Whenever her workload is too important, she orders him to give him a hand and you, of course, approve of her bossing about one of your subalterns."

"Careful again," said Gibbs, clenching his jaw.

"Why, are you going to say this is untrue?"

"You are wrong in your conclusions. McGee helps Abby because he's the only one in our team who has the right brains to understand forensic problems and not because she has ordered him to do so. He has a B.S. in bio-medical engineering and he knows science almost as well as Abby. As Team Leader, it is my responsibility to encourage solidarity between my teammates!"

"So the agent you disregard the most is used by your lab rat as her lackey, by your Senior Agent's as his whipping boy and by you as a mean to an end, how convenient! But what's strange is, whenever Agent McGee requires assistance neither you nor your subalterns are around to help him."

"**We have each other's six out in the field anytime and…"**

"No, Agent Gibbs, that's not true," interrupted Franklin firmly. "We have documentation proving that you have neglected Agent McGee's needs many times. He has been tasered twice in a day and you haven't sent your man to the hospital, in spite of his sufferings and the possible consequences on his health after having been hit by an electroshock weapon; you forced him to drive a dog to NCIS' headquarters right after the said beast has mauled him, and you didn't even bother to ask a doctor to treat his wounds; you forced him to collect evident in a pool filled with polluted water and infected by mosquitoes – against all kind of HAZMAT safety regulations; you have been lucky this agent has come out of your criminal negligence unscathed, otherwise this agency would have been sued for all its worth by his relatives!"

"Are you denying that you have overlooked Agent McGee's health and security over the years, Agent Gibbs?" asked Clifford.

"No, I don't," answered Gibbs, carrying out his Step Four:_ "Make a 180 turn and sweep adversary off its feet."_

A few seconds of stunned silence followed the ex-Marine's answer. Clifford's glasses almost slipped off his long nose while Franklin narrowed his almond-shaped eyes. Only Walken let out a soft sigh: maybe his prayers for an abbreviated session had been answered, after all.

"You _don't_?" repeated Clifford.

"Nope," said Gibbs, returning to his previous monosyllabic state while thinking at the same time: _"Step Four: let's them have their fun and the sooner I get out of here, the better. I have to contact Butler and make some phone calls in order to know if Kort has left for Afghanistan!"_

"So, you admit haven't been up to the task to protect Agent McGee from both danger out in the field and hazing from agents under your command?"

"Yeah."

"Are you aware it means that your leadership skills are questioned?"

"Yeah."

Clifford and Walken exchanged a worried look, while Franklin thought:"_Well, well! The Old Dragon has managed to hit a home run before we could go for a third strike! Who would have imagined it? He has pulled the rug from under our feet, a good move - now we have no other choice than to deliberate, since he has apparently accepted the allegations made against him!"_

"Ahem! Well, in that case, Agent Gibbs, the board members can take decisions about your case right now, avoiding us to endure a second session," said Clifford.

"Fine for me," answered the laconic Team Leader.

The three review board members conversed with each other for a moment in a low voice, giving the ex-Marine a moment of peace to make a mental list of people to call about the CIA's agent. Kort had vanished right after his dramatic appearance in the basement and attempts to locate him had failed – especially with Tim out of DC and Abby on the bench for the moment, depriving Gibbs of their fantastic technological knowledge. Even Director Vance and his bigwig allies had not been able to track down the rogue and that was no reassuring news; Kort had expressed an unhealthy interest towards Tim and Gibbs knew it could only spell trouble for his youngest, who already had his hands full with managing a secret project in a war-torn country. This frustrating situation innerved Gibbs to the max and he was in a hurry to finish with this review board nonsense, so he could do some real work! Finally, the three agents finished their private conversation - Walken seemed very eager to end it - and Clifford took the floor:

"Well, Agent Gibbs, we have to admit you have surprised us by your acknowledgement of having inadequately led your team and your negligence towards Agent McGee. We have appreciated this act of good will and, out of respect for your military career and your work at NCIS, we won't ask for a revocation…"

"_Do you honestly think I care about your appreciation, you bunch of time-wasting, pen-pushing bureaucrats?"_ thought the unconcerned silver-haired man.

"However, we do ask that you will follow a series of workshops for three months to improve your leadership, which has been gravely lacking in the light of those allegations made against you. This probation period will last for three months and then, you will attend another review board session which will determine if you have indeed benefited from this measure, so you could be fully re-instated in your functions. Your salary, health insurance and pension plans will be maintained during this probation but you will not be allowed to take up new murder cases…"

"_Shake a leg, man! I have calls to make!"_ grumbled Gibbs inwardly.

"…especially since Agent DiNozzo is also on probation and you are missing a forensic scientist for another month, plus Agent McGee will be absent for five months or so. We hope you understand you have been granted a big favor, Agent Gibbs, and that you will employ your time to re-consider your past actions and improve your general attitude, but be aware that a single infringement to the review board's decisions will result in your immediate sacking, are we clear?"

"Yeah."

"Then this session is finished. Good day, Agent Gibbs."

The ex-Marine got up on his feet and left the room in a hurry, unaware that Agent Walken let out a huge sigh of relief. As on clue, a quote from Confucious came to Gibbs' mind: _"The man who moves a mountain begins by carrying away small stones". _

A smile came to his lips: the review board had indeed been kicked out of the way like a peeble; his four-step plan had worked and he was free to carry on with his secret investigations, braving Vance's interdiction in the process but Gibbs did not care about it. He **would** find the whereabouts of his youngest son and monitor Tim's movements from afar, even if it meant hiring Burt Butler and his disreputable associates for information!

TBC…


	36. A detection

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- The landmine is inspired by the story _Leap of Death_ (1980) of a series of French-Belgian comic books named _Jess Long, FBI agent,_ created in 1969 by Arthur Piroton (1931-1996) and Maurice Tillieux (1922-1978). I apologize for any inaccuracies, since I know next to nothing about the army or weapons.

- Details about Humvees come from Wikipedia.

- 'Lullaby' is a song by British rock band The Cure from their album _Show_ (1993).

_- Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_ (2004) is the third movie of the Harry Potter franchise.

_- Citizen Kane_ (1941) is an American film, directed by and starring Orson Welles (1915-1985).

- To Earthdragon: your fears are justified! ;o)

- To PJ from Germany: Guten Tag! Thank you for your kind review!

- To None: a confrontation between Abby and Ziva will make some fur to fly in the air, for certain.

- To Sprouthater: I hope this new chapter will meet your expectations.

- To Prairiecitygirl: Hello! It's nice to hear from you again. Jimmy should not be taken for granted, either!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 36: A detection <strong>

_Meanwhile, in the desert..._

_Beep... Beep... Beep..._

Tim McGee had his eyes riveted to the laptop's screen, completely oblivious to his surroundings. He was back-seating in a High Mobility Multipurpose Wheeled Vehicle - Humvee for short - and Corporal Roberts was driving it, just like they have previously done for The Watcher's dry run at ISAF but this time they were not alone: two soldiers were accompanying them and four other men were following them in another vehicle. Today was a test of The Watcher in desert country, patrolling an area which was supposed to be calm but, like General Stephenson had said, in war-torn countries there was nothing as such as 'completely safe areas' and soldiers had to be heavily armed at all times.

The General had agreed to let Tim run tests in the desert since the program needed to prove its worth in real combat conditions; Stephenson knew The Watcher had to be tried over and over again before it could be considered as part of the US forces equipment of war; for instance, it could be installed in ZEUS-HLON vehicles to improve detection of surface mines or improvised explosive devices and then, once found, they would be destroyed by the solid-state laser sported of those special Humvees. But for Stephenson, sending McGee in the desert had felt like placing his son's head on the chopping block. He had grown increasingly attached to Tim, whose brilliance and dedication were similar to his beloved Christopher's, and the very idea of the young man being hurt in an attack was simply unbearable; however, McGee's strong sense of duty – quite incredible for a civilian – plus the secrecy about The Watcher would have made him refuse to be replaced by another computer tech during those desert runs. The Watcher was McGee's baby and he would rather swallow dishwater than let a person being put in danger in his stead.

Consequently, Stephenson had very carefully sieved the men accompa)nying McGee on this desert test: Corporal Roberts, of course, McGee's designated chauffeur and unofficial guardian angel; Private Winter, a man who had distinguished himself for his quick thinking in ambushes; EOD1 (EWS) Spikerman, Petty Officer First Class and senior technician of the Explosive Ordnance Disposal division, an ace in neutralizing landmines. In the other car were Sergeant Raff (a man who never second-guessed the General), Private Fredericks (recently decorated for bravery), field doctor Lieutenant Lay (a cool head under fire) and Private Emerson (a bright, eager young lad): all good men who trusted the General unconditionally and when Stephenson had sworn them to silence about the future outcome of this peculiar patrol mission, they all obeyed without discussion..

_Beep... Beep... Beep..._

Being accepted right away had been a nice change for Tim; he could not deny having been a tad worried at the thought of going with soldiers out in the desert, with only Roberts knowing about his lack of military training. Not that Tim feared enemy attacks – he was a courageous man, proficient with a SIG Sauer and the Dark Dove was nestled against his chest – but he was wary of mocking comments out in the field, like the ones he had endured since he had started working for NCIS. But astonishingly, the men had not exchanged knowing glances or whispered after Corporal Roberts had said Lieutenant McGee of Finance Corps would go with them on patrol duty; at first, Tim had suspected they had been warned beforehand of the presence of a tag-along amongst their crowd but one reassuring wink from Roberts had made him realize it had not been the case. Sergeant Raff, Lieutenant Lay, EOD1 Spikerman and the privates were not the kind to waste time speculating about an accounting Lieutenant's worthiness on patrol duty. Besides, they were bound to keep a sharp lookout at their immediate surroundings as the Humvees were driven on bumpy dirt roads and it was not the place for gossiping or boasting. The men were concentrated on spotting the tiniest signs of enemy activity and, in spite of danger, Tim appreciated being in company of professionals focused on their duties instead of giving Hell to newbies.

_Beep... Beep... Beep..._

The Watcher was screening the vicinity and so far, after having driven fifteen miles from the base, it could not detect any suspicious item buried under the road. The program had detected handguns and rifles while crossing Kabul, but every time it had been identified as weapons used by the Afghan police and army, or Jezail muskets sported by local tribes' leaders. After the Humvees had gotten out of Kabul, The Watcher had remained quiet apart from the rhythmic sound of its radar detecting mountains, roads and an occasional shepherd.

On the passenger's side, Private Winter had barely raised an eyebrow at the sight of the laptop resting on the Finance Corps officer before resuming his attention to their surroundings. Spikerman, seated next to McGee, was occasionally glancing at the computer as the technician in him could not help but be fascinated by the images displayed on the screen. However, he did not dare to talk; from the look of concentration on the Lieutenant's face, it was obvious the man would not hear if someone asked a question.

Roberts looked in the rear-view mirror and indeed, McGee was staring statue-like to his laptop's screen. Probably because he was soaking up like a sponge the data collected by his program but, as long as the radar was not picking up anything dangerous, it meant they could carry on patrolling safely.

_Beep... Beep... Beep... Beepbeepbeepbeepbeep!_

"Roberts, stop!" exclaimed Tim.

The Corporal slammed on the brakes and the Humvee came to an abrupt halt, immediately imitated by the vehicle driven by Private Fredericks, behind. Winter grabbed at his weapon, imitated by Spikerman while Roberts turned about and asked:

"What's happening, Lieutenant?"

"I've detected something… It is buried at about a hundred yards ahead of us. It is round in shape, with explosive materials inside the casing... There are two antennas… No, two hooks on top of it and it's buried in a shallow hole in the ground... The hooks are sticking out of the ground but but they are thin and barely visible... The casing of the item is made of... Glass? Oh my gosh!" exclaimed Tim as realization dawned on him. He exchanged a glance with Spikerman, who nodded in acknowledgement: the two men had identified the menace.

"What's going on, Lieutenant? What did you see?" asked a frantic Roberts.

"Corporal, just ahead of us there is a landmine with magnetic hooks," explained Tim. "This device was used by the Resistance during World War II and it has a very simple operating system: explosives tucked in a round glass box and the firing mechanism is triggered by hooks detecting the magnetic flux deployed by a moving vehicle."

"Like when a car's alarm is set off by a truck driving in the street?" asked Winter.

"Exactly! And then the landmine clings under the car's axle shafts by its hooks, with the motion's force unearthing the device. Seconds later, it explodes, leaving no chances for the passengers."

"I remember... After the attacks on the Humvees, the guys in charge of the investigations said they found a few shards of glass amongst the debris..." muttered Roberts.

"But why use glass? It's kinda frail material!" said Winter.

"True, but it's also cheap and easy to find," answered Spikerman, his eyes turning somber. "During World War II, the Resistance didn't have access to materials so they built explosives with whatever scrap they could find."

"My grandfather told me about this kind of explosive devices when I was a kid; he saw them being used in 1944 during his time in France. Those landmines were not exactly reliable but when they worked, they could tear apart German trucks like paper," said McGee, remembering how he listened to Grandpa's captivating stories in his grandparents' living-room while munching on Penny's cookies. His father had tried to forbid Timmy from listening to his grandfather's war experience but the elder McGee told his son in no uncertain terms to mind his own business. It had been a shock for Timmy to see his father defeated, and an even greater shock to have been defended by an adult for the first time of his young life, as it never happened at home or in school.

"Yeah, well, there's one buried in the middle of the road!" grumbled Roberts. "So what are we gonna do about it?"

"Letting me do my job?" asked a sarcastic Spikerman.

Minutes later, the senior technician of the Explosive Ordnance Disposal division was kneeling on the road, next to the exposed hooks of the landmine, in full protective gear. The two Humvees had been moved backwards at a safe distance, and placed to form a protective shield for the remaining men staying behind; their attentiveness was sharper than ever as they watched their surroundings while Spikerman took care of the landmine – even though The Watcher had detected no suspicious movement around, it was better to be safe than sorry. McGee had proposed his help to Spikerman but the EOD technician had flatly refused, saying it was quite out of the question and he did not have protection equipment for two persons, anyway.

The other soldiers had looked at the Lieutenant with rounded eyes from his suggestion, making Tim feel like a fool from his _faux pas_. Thus he remained behind, his laptop in hand and looking morose; Roberts tried to console him by discreetly saying:

"Don't take it badly, Lieutenant, but disarming landmines is Spikerman's specialty. Our job is to watch his back until that goddamned thing is harmless and we can go back to ISAF with all our limbs intact."

"I know, Roberts; it's just… I feel so useless standing here and watching one of our guys taking all the risks."

"I beg to differ, Sir!" protested the Corporal. "You've done more than enough; you detected the landmine in the first place with that magical computer of yours, remember? Besides, I don't see how you help Spikerman; do you have any experience with explosives?"

"A little; I've stumbled upon a few time bombs and I had to disarm them by cutting the wirings of the countdown mechanism."

"WHAT?" exclaimed Roberts, making Private Emerson crouching nearby to jump slightly.

"But I thought…. I thought you were a federal agent in civil life, Sir." said the Corporal in a lower voice.

"I am! It's just… In some cases, we investigate terrorists groups and they can leave behind explosive 'presents' in warehouses or the likes to cover their tracks; we don't always have time to call in the Bomb Squad and so we have to act swiftly to protect passersby, you see?"

Tim remembered a special case, when the team had to track down a mentally-retarded man carrying a bomb in his backpack, right in the middle of a shopping mall. The poor guy was sitting on a bench, completely oblivious of the dangerous device resting on his knees and he had to be coaxed for long, stressful minutes before he would agree to open his backpack. Then, Gibbs had ordered his subordinates to leave the area but Tony, Ziva and Tim had refused to move a muscle, out of loyalty to their Team Leader. Then, the Israeli woman had managed to disarm the explosives in the nick of time, simply by using the multi-tools of her Swiss Army knife!

Of course, the relief they had felt afterwards had been spoiled by a lousy joke from Tony, who had to make his usual wise-guy number to calm his nerves; he told the bomb-bearer that Tim had soiled himself out of fear, a calumny of the poorest taste and a deliberate denigration of the computer tech's courage. However, the innocent man had ruined Tony's moment of glory by pointing his finger at Tim before asking:_ "Why would __**he**__ piss in his pants?"_ Being outsmarted by a retarded person had been the ultimate insult for Tony and he had sulked at his desk for a week. McGee had appreciated this poetic justice even though he would have preferred a word of praise from Gibbs, but it never happened.

"I had no idea… Meaning no disrespect, Sir, but I never thought being a computer ace would place you right into danger."

"Well, some time bombs' wiring is similar to computers'… You just have to cut the right wire and the whole system is shut down."

"Maybe, but computers are unlikely to explode in your face!" objected Roberts.

"You'll be surprised," answered Tim before returning his attention to the scene ahead. The EOD technician had torn off the magnetic hooks and was slowly unearthing the glass casing. Raff, Emerson, Winter and Fredericks were still on the lookout, weapons on the ready, while Lieutenant Lay watched Spikerman with a mix of apprehension and fascination on his face. Knowing the technician was so close to mortal danger would drive any sane man out of his mind, but Spikerman had been trained to deal with every sort of threats and he would not take inconsiderate risks just to show off his teammates. Disarming explosives was not a job for fools or loudmouths, and Spikerman was neither.

"The Spider-man is gonna weave its web around the bomb," whispered Emerson, making the other soldiers smile briefly.

"Spider-man?" repeated McGee.

"That's Spikerman's nickname, Sir," answered Robets. "He doesn't appreciate it too much, but it fits him like a glove. When he's on the job, he acts like a giant spider: he makes landmines harmless as if he wraps an invisible web around it, and then he drags the device home to be torn apart."

Out of the blue, the 'Lullaby' song by rock group The Cure came to Tim's mind; Abby had pestered him to listen to all her CD of this group she adored and Tim had relented until he got fed up with it – irritating Abby to no point, making her loudly state all over NCIS that he did not know anything about neither real music nor real life. Tim had not forgotten this frightening song, thought, and under this stressful situation he mentally changed the lyrics into:

"_On __MARPAT trousers__ Spider-man comes,_

_Softly through the shadows of the desert sun,_

_Stealing past the eyes of the blissfully aware,_

_Looking for landmines in beds of dirt, beware,_

_Chasing away fear from countries abroad, and suddenly!_

_A movement in the corner of the road!_

_And there's nothing the landmine can do when it realizes with fright,_

_The Spider-man is having it for dinner tonight."_

This absurd poem made Tim chuckle lightly, and when Roberts turned interrogating eyes towards him he just whispered:

"He paralyzes its preys like a spider, that's true."

Fortunately, the disarming of the bomb went without any fatal mistake. Spikerman had cleared the dirt covering the transparent casing with a brush, made a small opening in the glass and cut the wires through the gap before extracting the landmine out of its earthen hiding place.

"It's all right, men! This thing's harmless now," announced the EOD technician as he locked the device up in a portable safe; he would hand out the box to the experts at ISAF, who would dismantle its contents and test it.

The rest of the men let out a big sigh of relief. Winter and Emerson congratulated Spikerman, who merely shrugged before placing the safe in the second Humvee's trunk. Lieutenant Lay put the unused first-aid kit back to its place, inside the first vehicle.

"Well done, Spikerman!" exclaimed Tim sincerely.

"It was an easy one, Sir – thanks to the information you gave. It was definitively a landmine with magnetic hooks, but you detected it way before the mechanism could be triggered by the metallic mass of the Humvee, so I had all the time in the world to cut off its wires. I dunno how your laptop did it to identify the device so early, Sir, but it's great!"

"And we have an intact landmine for our experts to study," added Sergeant Raff. "No doubts the boys will get some interesting info out of it… Maybe even identify the culprits!"

"Yes, as every bomber has a personal signature," said Spikerman. "The experts will dust it for fingerprints and, if we're lucky, even find DNA samples."

"No doubts the guy who is making those landmines for local warlords didn't bother to wear gloves, as he'd be certain the glass casings would shatter into a billion pieces, too little to get even a partial fingerprint. So far, we had no idea we were dealing with an 'antique' bomb model but now we know what kind of weapons the enemy is using, giving us the upper hand; the patrols will have to look for metallic hooks sticking out of the ground, as it means explosives are lying in wait," concluded Tim.

The men exchanged glances, as the implications of this discovery sank into their minds. They were quite aware of the terrible casualties suffered by troopers and civilians alike for months, ever since those landmines started to appear on Afghan roads. So far, the Coalition forces had not been able to find what kind of materials were used for those devices, making detection very difficult but Lieutenant McGee seemed to have found the solution! Had they had not been sworn to silence, they would have been in a hurry to drive back to the base and tell their buddies of the good news – but the oath Stephenson had made them take before leaving ISAF prevented them to do so. The General had made it very clear of what would happen to their careers if information was about Lieutenant McGee's work was leaked without his approval…

"Er… Well, it looks like our job here is done, Sir," said Roberts, returning to the matter at hand. "The General told us to go back to the base once we've found something interesting and I daresay we did, unless there is something else around, Sir?"

Tim opened the laptop and glanced at its screen; The Watcher had kept on working imperturbably, scrutinizing every rock, mountain and bush in the perimeter with a soft and steady _"Beep... Beep... Beep…"_ but the data collected was related only to the weapons carried by the Marines. There were no other landmines hidden under the road as far as The Watcher could detect and the patrol had to go back to ISAF promptly to warn Stephenson about their recent discovery.

"No, Roberts, there's nothing or nobody else around. Let's go back to ISAF," said Tim.

"Right away, Sir!"

The men wasted no time turning the Humvees about to head back for Kabul. Even though he was very pleased with the results of this mission, Tim was not the kind to rest on his laurels and he stayed glued to his computer screen on the journey back, reading attentively the data provided by The Watcher and remaining on the alert at the tiniest beep coming out of the laptop's loudspeakers.

* * *

><p><em>In Washington, DC…<em>

Tony parked his car just in front of Gibbs' house and he grabbed a paper bag containing a bottle of Jack Daniel's Old No. 7 before leaving the vehicle. After the disastrous confrontation in the bullpen's elevator a week ago, the Senior Agent felt it was high time to put past differences behind and reconcile with Gibbs. The man was more than his mentor and it was only thanks to him that Tony had become a respected federal agent; otherwise, he would have remained a loudmouthed Baltimore cop with no chances to earn anything further than the grade of Sergeant, dooming him to remain under the orders of snot-nosed Lieutenants or irascible Captains.

After Gibbs had offered him to work for him at NCIS, Tony had barely believed his luck: he had asked for a transfer in another division for weeks but all his applications had been rejected, partly because of his dirty former partner but also his reputation as a loudmouthed troublemaker preceded him for miles. With a record filed with complains about his behavior at work, Tony had been seriously considering moving to another town for the third time in six years, when fate had made him arrest a man under suspicion of drug trafficking in a backstreet alley. Afterwards, his Captain had told him the guy in question was Leroy Jethro Gibbs, ex-Marine and federal agent in an undercover career. Tony had thought his career as a law enforcement officer had come to an end, since feds rarely appreciated to be mistaken for miscreants but instead of wanting him fired, Gibbs had offered the young man a future out of Baltimore and its bad memories. Tony had barely taken the time to slam down his resignation on his Captain's desk before fleeing to DC, and it had turned out to be the best decision of his life.

Sure, the road to become a federal agent had not been easy but Tony had put all into it, culminating in being promoted Senior Agent and becoming Gibbs' adopted son. He had always thought of himself as being unbeatable but this title and his mentor's affection had felt like winning the jackpot at a Las Vegas casino for Tony. After years of being overlooked by his father and criticized by his co-workers, he had earned the respect of the NCIS best agent and he was firmly resolute in keeping it.

Tony remembered in the third Harry Potter movie (he had never bothered to read the books) where a magical creature called Boggart could take the shape of what a person feared the most – in the case of Harry, it were the ghostly Dementors. But if Tony had been in the movie, his greatest fear would have taken the shape of stone-faced Gibbs saying: _"You're finished, DiNozzo. I've found a better man than you to be my Senior Agent. Go back chasing low-life scum in Baltimore!"_

The young man shivered slightly at the thought, and then he reasoned himself: being temporarily at odds with Gibbs did not mean he would be send back to Maryland anytime soon. Quarrels could happen within the best teams, plus he and Gibbs were both alpha males, bound to lock horns from time to time. It was the reason why Tony had come to the silver-haired man's house with a bottle and a peace offering; they needed to patch up their differences to prove to the other agents in NCIS that Team Gibbs could function even in the absence of McQuitter.

Tony climbed the front steps and opened the front door without knocking; as expected, it was unlocked so he let himself in. The house was dark, meaning Gibbs was most likely in his basement, working on a boat or drinking Bourbon. That was perfect!

With a wide grin on his face, Tony walked towards the staircase leading to the basement, guided by the light coming from down. Then, the murmur of a conversation reached the Senior Agent's ears, making him pause on the first step:

"Yeah, I know you can't tell me exactly where you are, Butler… But at least you can tell me on which continent you are, can't you?"

Tony frowned at those words; Gibbs was talking to a guy named Butler and, since no other voice than the Team Leader's was audible, it could only mean he was having a phone conversation.

"Asia? C'mon, you can do better than that… Between Middle East and Asia? I told you to not waste my time! Look, here's a simple question and you can answer it with either a 'Yes' or a 'No': are you in Afghanistan?"

The mention of that country made Tony frown deeper: why would Gibbs manifest an interest towards the place where McDeserter had gone to show off his knowledge? In spite of Gibbs' repeated reprimands, Ziva's advice and even Ducky's nuggets of wisdom, the Senior Agent had not find the courage to admit that Tim's leaving the team had been partly his fault. He still could not see how a few jokes and pranks could have hurt the man he had worked with for more than seven years. He still thought Tim was too soft, even after all this time dealing with gruesome murders, and it was his duty as Senior Agent to harass the former Probie until he would turn into what Tony called a 'perfect partner': in other terms, another DiNozzo.

"You cannot answer?... Gee, that's too bad, because I would have had a job proposal for you…. Oh, so you're in the neighborhood, right! Well, since you are supposedly not far from Kabul, then maybe you could do something for me. I'm looking for a man… Oh, ha-ha, very funny, Butler! Now, listen: according to my sources, this man is working at ISAF…. Yeah, that's right, the NATO-led security mission… No, I don't want you to infiltrate the base and kidnap the guy, good grief! In fact, I forbid you to lay a finger on this man, do you hear me?... You don't touch a hair of his head, not even on a comb **or else!**... Right, now that we've come to an agreement, listen carefully: I only want to know if this man is faring well…. Well, the usual stuff! If he looks healthy, he comes out of ISAF, he goes to Kabul, this kind of things… Yes, of course, it's a surveillance job! Why else would I have contacted you?... No, your bloodthirsty business is your own; I just wanna know about this man and don't tell me you're not interested in getting a bit of extra money on the sideline…. Good!... The man's name is Timothy McGee…. Describe him? Caucasian, thirty-two years old, light-brown hair, green eyes, tall, very intelligent… No, he doesn't have any specific scars or tattoos… Well, you can hang around ISAF and ask questions, dammit! It won't take too much of your time for whether nasty business you're involved in… Right… Good… Call me on this number only as soon as you have some fresh news and don't worry about the time difference, okay? Right… Bye."

Tony had a hard time believing his own ears; Gibbs was talking to a shadowy character, and had asked him to investigate about McLooser's whereabouts? All this behind Vance's back? The Director would have an apoplectic fit hearing about this! Tony knew Gibbs had met some disreputable individuals during his Marine years: mercenaries, bounty hunters, spies, turncoats to name a few, but the silver-haired man refused to talk about them – even after a lot of questions from Tony, which had earned him some hard head-slaps. In the end, the young man had thought it safer for his skull to stop prying about Gibbs' past.

So, why would Gibbs commit career suicide? Why would he disregard Vance's orders and ask a weird guy abroad to keep a close eye on McSoftie?

Lost in his thoughts, Tony let his eye wander around the living-room. He had been at Gibbs' place many times and he knew the design of this room like the back of his hand: the cathode-tube TV tucked in a corner, a real antique; the hated sofa, too lumpy and too short; the dining table, useless since Gibbs ate in his basement; the complete lack of basic comfort like cushions or rugs; the bookcase…

_What?_

Tony jumped on his feet at the sight: a bookcase? The living-room did not have one on his last visit! By the looks of it, it was brand-new and smelt of fresh varnish; considering his boss' love for woodworking, it was not hard to deduce Gibbs had made the piece of furniture himself but why on Earth would he build a bookcase? The Team Leader was not known for his love of reading and neither was his Senior Agent. In fact, there were only three books stored on the upper plank…

Then, Tony saw something that made his blood boil: next to the books was a framed photo…

A portrait of Tim.

_McGee had his photo at the place of honor, whereas the rest of Team Gibbs' picture was relegated to the basement._

_McGee had been placed above everybody in Team Gibbs._

_McGee had been placed above Tony._

_McGee had replaced Tony in Gibbs' affections!_

Seeing red, Tony's first impulse would have been to grab the framed photo and smash it on the floor, before stomping it under his heel and only years of fearing Gibbs' wrath stopped him from committing irreversible damages. For all his bravado, Tony could not dare to destroy his boss' property but the mere sight of this photo had awakened his sense of outrage: it was not fair, it was not good! McGoogle did not have the right to be more important than Antony DiNozzo, Junior! He **was** the most important man, the Senior Agent, the born leader, the one who had replaced Gibbs in a snap! McGee was a computer tech, and that was final! A mere computer tech, barely able to stand his own, vaguely useful in finding data for their investigations before scrambling back behind his screen, where he belonged!

The bitter taste of jealousy filled Tony's mouth and throat; it felt as if his whole world had crashed and fell in a cloud of dust, leaving only ashes and desperation. He had been betrayed; he had been betrayed by his mentor! Gibbs was officially favoring McGee! Tony had voiced out this fact in the bullpen, just before he had a conference with his boss in the elevator, but Gibbs had brushed away his fears by stating that his Senior Agent should grow up and stop worrying about his place within the team. Tony had believed it for a moment and it had prompted him for a late evening visit with a bottle of Jack Daniel's in hand… But the whole thing had been only deception and lies. Gibbs had tricked him into believing that he was still his adopted son, while at the same time he was moving Heaven and Earth to get some news about McCheater. The hypocrite, the silver-haired hypocrite! And he had the nerve to lecture Tony, on top of everything!

Furious, the Senior Agent turned heels and left the house; since Gibbs was no longer interested in him, it was pointless to try and patch up things between them. Tony ran to his car, climbed on the driver's seat, carelessly threw the paper bag on the backseat and fired up the engine. The alcohol would not go to waste, though: Tony would drink it in front of his TV, numbing his mind with Jack Daniel's and Orson Welles' _Citizen Kane_!

TBC…


	37. A deduction and a deception

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- I won't be able to post a new chapter next week, as I'll have to work at the office on Saturday, *sigh*. My apologies to all my fantastic readers and reviewers!

- Details about the retinal scan come from Wikipedia.

- Jealousy as the green-eyed monster is mentioned in 'Othello', act 3, scene 3, by William Shakespeare (1564-1616): "_O, beware, my lord, of jealousy. It is the green-ey'd monster, which doth mock__ t__he meat it feeds on."_

_- Kojak_ is an American television series aired from 1973 to 1978, starring Telly Savalas (1922-1994).

_- Columbo_ is an American television series (1968-2003), starring Peter Falk (1927-2011).

_- Titanic_ is a 1997 American film directed, written, co-produced, and co-edited by James Cameron.

- To Earthdragon: you've nailed the problem head on. Gibbs simply cannot bear not being in control and his call to Butler will cause definitively cause some harm.

- To Guest and None: thank you for your kind words!

- To McFun: Tony won't come back to his senses before a long time, I'm afraid!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 37: A deduction and a deception<strong>

_A few days later, at NCIS Headquarters…_

"Your man has done a wonderful job, Vance!" said Stephenson during their weekly meeting in the MTAC room.

Sam, the technician on duty, glanced at his Director standing to attention in front of the screen; his face was chiseled in granite, as usual, but Sam could see a very small corner of his mouth being elevated in satisfaction – a sure sign of satisfaction, meaning Vance would be in a good mood for the rest of the day. That was great!

"I assume The Watcher is working correctly?" asked Vance.

"Correctly? It is incredible! That program has been able to identify all the weapons stocked at the base and, when McGee took it for a ride in the desert, it detected a glass-cased landmine buried on the road, way before it could have been triggered by the approaching Humvee. The EOD technician has managed to disarm it and the explosive experts are dismantling it as we speak; but this intact landmine has already provided us with priceless information: we found the neat fingerprint of a thumb on one of the wires, and also a hair with its follicle stuck between two cogs of the firing mechanism."

"A fingerprint, plus a possible source of DNA: it will increase your chances of identifying the bomb builder by 70%," said Vance, his eyes shining in happiness by this _coup de maître_ during The Watcher's maiden voyage. McGee was definitively one of his best agents!

"Yes, and this landmine is too sophisticated to be the work of a local, meaning a low-life scum has been those landmines to terrorists and gets inspired by weapons used during World War II, so there's a good chance the man in question comes from the West – gosh, it could even be an American, one of our own! The very thought revolts me but I don't have the luxury to be naive here."

Vance nodded slightly at those words. He knew the General loved his men but he was not the kind to turn a blind eye to possible treachery, which could happen anytime in war, and in any army, battalion or platoon.

"How is McGee doing?" asked Vance, returning to the matter at hand.

"I had a hard time persuading him to not go back to the desert for a second essay of The Watcher!" answered Stephenson with a chuckle. "Your boy wanted to return to patrol duty once the glass landmine was secured at ISAF and find some more, but it is simply too dangerous to wander in the desert by night. The poor guy had completely forgotten about the time and I had to order him to get a meal at the mess hall! I've rarely seen anyone so determined and passionate; he must be an asset in your department, right?"

"He is," said Leon Vance sincerely. No one knew the plans he had for the boy, not even Gibbs, but the silver-haired man was not the only one electing a NCIS agent as his future heir. To the Director, McGee represented the perfect agent with indispensable qualities of loyalty and diligence added to high brainpower. Unlike a lot of people, Vance had never been impressed by loudmouths and he usually compared them to drums: they could make a lot of noise but they were empty inside. It was the reason why he preferred to focus his attention on the quiet ones, who could reveal surprising qualities given a chance.

"And yet… The first meeting I had with McGee at ISAF, I told him to keep a low profile and to not pay heed to snide remarks from our boys. He answered that he was used to get this kind of comments and it had never distracted him from his work; kind of a strange comment, isn't it?" asked Stephenson, looking pointedly at Vance.

The toothpick-man clenched his jaw, and Sam realized with a sigh that his superior's good mood had just flown out of the MTAC's sliding doors.

"I don't think NCIS' ways of working has something to do with McGee's recent accomplishments," said Vance. A lot of things displeased him about Team Gibbs but he was not going to tell a Marine General about it; the dysfunctions within his agency were of his own business.

"And yet… I would have thought a federal agency was a place filled with professionals, who respected their co-workers and knew when to joke and when to concentrate on cases. You see, I've made inquiries about Agent McGee way before calling him about The Watcher; his less-than-amiable Admiral of a father is known all around DC for his permanent complaints about his twice-graduated son, which is something any sane person would find completely aberrant – however, his ranting and raving have provided me with a lot of information during a cocktail party at the White House. The elder McGee is quite a babble-mouth once he has had a few too much to drink!"

Vance inwardly cursed Admiral McGee to Hell and back, with a long stay at the Purgatory on the way.

"But what was more amazing was the part when the Admiral snickered about his son getting a hard time from an ex-Marine boss," continued Stephenson unperturbedly. "According to him, it was poetic justice: his issue had been too afraid about being insulted and harassed by a Navy Drill Sergeant so he chose a cushy desk job at NCIS, only to be insulted and harassed by an office Drill Sergeant. Out of the frying pan, into the fire, as the saying goes!"

"General…."

"You could imagine my surprise hearing this, and how it increased the first time I met Agent McGee: the so-called useless coward turned out to be a gutsy, brilliant, dedicated and polite young man, the perfect opposite of the description given by an inebriated Admiral. I thought it would be difficult to persuade McGee to leave the US for a perilous job in Afghanistan, but here again I was surprised after seeing he would pack his bags as soon as he'd get your approval for this mission. It didn't take too much of my time to understand Agent McGee had nothing tying him to DC: not his family, and certainly not his team, and yet he seems to love being a federal agent… A valid hypothesis would be that he doesn't get along with his teammates."

The toothpick at the corner of Vance's mouth broke under the pressure of the jaw to fall on the floor of the MTAC room.

"I thought the boy may had some relationship issues with other people but the men he had befriended during patrol duty have commented about how 'cool' and 'decent' Lieutenant McGee is; _my aide-de-camp_, in particular, doesn't stop heaping praises about your man's courageous and intelligent behavior, _"worthy of a real soldier"_ according to Roberts. So all this brought me to do a little investigation and everything came out clear after I've learned the name of Agent McGee's Team Leader: Leroy Jethro Gibbs, correct?"

Vance was beginning to see red, as he did not appreciate being pointed the flaws of his agency by a third party.

"Now look, General, this is getting irrelevant! My agents are not to be scrutinized or criticized. NCIS is a respectable federal agency with one of the highest crime-solving rates so I daresay we know how to do our job!"

"Depends of the way of how you handle your men, Director Vance," answered Stephenson severely. "I've heard some very negative things about Agent Gibbs and one of the word most often used to describe him is, and I quote, _"A jerk."_ Gibbs is well-known for his insolence, his disregard towards regulations and his insulting attitude to the learned – so I'm having a hard time believing this kind of man could actually appreciate intelligent subordinates, which may help to explain why Agent McGee left DC so willingly. Maybe he got fed up being under a bully's orders?"

Vance snorted like a mad bull and a silent Sam made himself small on his office chair. A furious Director inevitably spelled trouble and the technician would rather not endure the wrath of Volcano Vance – it had exploded many times during the past few weeks and the NCIS guys had gotten a front seat ticket to look at the collateral damages: Team Gibbs being torn apart, Sciuto on extended suspension, the Admiral and Mrs. McGee retreating in horror. No, Sam really did not want to be in the vicinity of the mountain of fire so he remained as quiet as a mouse; with a little luck, he would be forgotten and it would suit him perfectly.

"Sam…" said Vance with a low, dangerous voice.

"Sir?" answered the tech; so much for being forgotten…

"Take a break."

"Yes, Sir!"

The young man could not be fast enough to jump on his feet and flee the MTAC room without a backward glance. Once the sliding doors have shut behind him, Vance turned his furious face towards the screen displaying General Stephenson.

"Like I've previously said, General, my agency's ways of working have nothing to do with McGee or The Watcher."

"I just want to know if it is safe for your man to go home once his six-month duty will be over," answered Stephenson. "I'd hate to think so much talent and courage would be wasted in a NCIS office, working for a man who is obviously a brain-hater. In fact, this kind of attitude is completely unworthy of an ex-Marine; Gibbs should know by now that being smart is an asset and, contrary to popular belief, we **do** value intelligence in the Marines."

"Why do you think **I **prize McGee's presence amongst us?" exclaimed Vance. "And I have no intention of letting him go anytime soon."

"Frankly, considering the lack of home-sickness he is displaying, he doesn't seem in a hurry to go back to DC. Maybe he'd rather stay in Afghanistan than continue to work for Gibbs!"

"HEY, STOP HERE FOR A MINUTE!" roared the Director. "McGEE IS **MY** MAN!"

"Well, you should have been more attentive towards him, then! For the life of me, I cannot see what possessed you to leave a good agent like McGee under the command of a notorious jerk."

"Just remember that McGee's career is not tied to Gibbs' _ad infinitum_, despite what you may think. Gibbs is close to retirement and McGee has a brilliant future ahead of him, right here at NCIS. I'm not going to let you discourage him from going home simply because you want to keep our local genius to yourself!"

"Actually, McGee was _already_ discouraged before he stepped foot on Afghan land," retorted Stephenson. "I saw it in his eyes; he had the same expression of those men who volunteer for the most dangerous missions because they have nothing left to lose. All I ever did was giving him a little nudge plus a few words of wisdom, and _voilà_! He builds a weapon-detecting computer program and installs it on a Humvee in less than two months! Doesn't that tell you something, Director Vance?"

"It tells me that McGee is mine and don't you forget it."

"Perish the thought. I just wanted to give you a little friendly advice: you'd better rein in Gibbs and his minions you happen to have in your agency, otherwise your genius will seek for permanent greener pastures… and I'll be too happy to provide him with a good place under the sun…," said Stephenson, staring unblinkingly at the image of a fuming Vance.

The Director felt like shouting abuse at the screen, but it would be a futile gesture and Leon Vance had not climbed the agency's ladder by acting like a fool. Deep down, he knew Stephenson's perceptivity was based on solid ground: Gibbs' bad temper was as famous as the moon and, by association, everybody knew the persons working with him: a former cop, an ex-Mossad assassin and an Admiral's son – not to forget an elderly Scottish M.E. and a forensics expert dressed like for a Halloween party. Team Gibbs was not known for its discretion and it would have been a matter of time before Stephenson would learn exactly how the ex-Marine had treated his computer tech for years.

"I want to talk to McGee," said Vance between gritted teeth.

"Roberts went to retrieve him at the mess hall, he should be here anytime soon," concluded General Stephenson.

* * *

><p>A few moments later, a much-more satisfied Director Vance stepped out of the MTAC room. He had a long chat with McGee and the young man had assured him he would come back to DC once his mission in Afghanistan would be over. He was enjoying his stay, for certain, and he was happy The Watcher was running smoothly but Tim had not forgotten that he was, first and foremost, an undercover civilian in a military base. This charade could not last forever, in spite of Stephenson's protection and McGee lived in dread that someone would blow the whistle about his presence at ISAF. Even the General would have a hard time explaining Tim's presence at the base without unveiling The Watcher's existence, and then spies would converge in Kabul like flies on carrion.<p>

Amazed by the young man's cool head and clear view of the situation, Vance had assured Tim that he would get a promotion right after his plane would land on DC; as expected, McGee had blushed and stammered at the news before starting to say he did not deserve such a thing, but the Director had cut his objections short with a wave of his hand; with all his hard work on The Watcher and the brilliant results obtained, Tim deserved to be accordingly awarded. But Vance had remained vague about the kid's future position at NCIS, as he did not want to tell him too soon that he would be the leader of a new team!

Chuckling slightly at the memory of McGee's stupefied face at the news of his upcoming promotion, Vance spotted Sam standing on the corridor with a cup of coffee in his hand and looking at him with rounded eyes, as if he could not understand what could have happened for the Director to change from an erupting volcano to a gentle hill in less than a few minutes. It was a welcome turn of events, though!

"You can go back to work, now, Sam," said Vance.

"Thank you, Sir."

"Director Vance, may I have a moment of your time?" asked a distinguished voice, and Sam watched as Doctor Mallard climbed up the stairs to talk to the toothpick man.

"Certainly, Doctor Mallard. What is it about?"

"Well, I am absolutely aware you have firmly stated than no-one is allowed to talk to Timothy during his stay abroad, especially not the members of Team Gibbs but nonetheless, I would like to plead the cause of a person who desperately wishes to communicate with our young friend, as silence and distance make the wait quite unbearable."

"Doctor Mallard, if this is another one of Miss Sciuto's whims, you're wasting your time and mine," said a frowning Vance, planting a new toothpick in his mouth to replace the broken one, another victim of stress at the workplace. "I've already told her…"

"With all due respect, Sir, this is not about Abigail," interrupted Ducky with a deferent tone, making Vance to slow his pace for a second.

"No?"

"No, Sir. It is not."

Vance looked at the Scottish man, whose blue gaze remained steady behind his glasses. Donald "Ducky" Mallard had worked for years at NCIS and the only time he had asked for a favor had been when he had needed a day off to bury his mother; in spite of objections, Ducky had not wanted to take a bereavement leave, insisting that working at the morgue would help dealing with his grief more efficiently than staying home. Vance had his doubts about this; in fact he had suspected Ducky did not want to let Gibbs down in his investigations, regardless of his own mourning state. It had made the Director wonder if Gibbs were truly aware of the fierce loyalty his teammates showed to him…

"Perhaps it would be better to carry on this conversation in my office? I'll ask Pamela to bring you some tea."

"It would be much appreciated, Sir. A nice cup of Earl Grey does wonder to keep the chill off my old bones. Why, I remember the time…"

Sam watched the Director and the M.E. walking towards Vance's office but, in the bullpen's hubbub, he could not hear the rest of their conversation. He was a bit intrigued by the person who desperately wanted to talk to McGee but Sam had a natural-born discretion and he considered eavesdropping as a revolting activity, good only for vicious tongues and lazy people. He, on the other hand, had a job to do and he won't be delayed for another minute.

The technician approached the scanner's eyepiece and let the beam of low-energy infrared light to trace a standardized path on his retina. Once the luminous pattern of his eye blood vessels were converted into a computer code matching the one stored in a database, the MTAC's sliding doors opened docilely and Sam made the movement to step forward but then, all of a sudden, he was roughly pushed inside the room!

"HEY! What on Earth…?"

"Shut up, you fool!" hissed a voice at his ear.

Sam turned about and he realized the guy who had just shoved him into the MTAC room was nothing but Special Agent Tony DiNozzo, standing right behind him!

"DiNozzo? What are you doing here? You don't have clearance for MTAC today!" asked the frantic Sam.

"I said, shut up! Is McGee still on the line?"

Before the technician could protest, Tim's voice was heard across the room: "Sam, are you here? Sam?"

The technician gulped loudly; after his Friday meeting with Vance, McGee would always take an extra minute to thank Sam for the communication and say good-bye. This courtesy was much appreciated by the tech; he was usually never noticed by the officers or other bigwigs who talked to the Director via the Internet link and, even though his discretion was appreciated, Sam felt as if he were made of transparent glass at times. But McGee had never forgotten to say hello to him before engaging a conversation with Vance, a polite attitude that made a nice change.

Hearing Tim's voice, Tony shoved Sam to his chair and a slicing motion across his throat made the technician understand that he had better keep silence about what was going to happen, or else the consequences would be severe. Then, the tall Senior Agent turned his attention to the screen displaying Tim's image and called out loudly:

"Hey, McGoo! Still alive?"

"Tony? What are you doing here?" asked Tim, astonished to see his colleague on screen. Director Vance had made it clear his teammates would not be allowed to talk to him until his mission in Afghanistan would be over and he was not the kind of man to appreciate breaches in discipline.

"Why, can't I say hello to an old friend?"

"Tony, Vance said…"

"Oh, to Hell with what Vance has said! I wanna talk to you and no one has the right to forbid me from doing anything."

McGee's eyes narrowed slightly at those words; apparently, Tony had not changed a bit since he had left the USA and his arrogance could not bode well for him. But once again, Tim's good nature overruled his suspicions; maybe Tony was sorry about them departing in bad terms and wanted to make amends… And if it were the case, Tim would be too happy to accept an apology.

"All right, what do you want to tell me?" asked Tim.

Tony looked at his teammate's image and suddenly, the green-eyed monster quoted in the 'Othello' play raised its ugly head: _Tim was magnificent!_ Healthy tanned skin, discolored-blond hair, emeralds shining in their orbits, plus a pair of muscled arms coming out of a short-sleeved olive T-shirt: a far cry from the computer tech that had left them in the dust, two months ago. Tim could easily pass for a Marine's poster boy and this mere idea infuriated Tony to no ends. He had proudly worn the uniform during his one-week mission in Iraq and yet, Probie had managed to look more like a military man than him! It was not fair! _**He**_ was Senior Agent and _**he**_ had a lifetime experience with undercover jobs, not McFrail!

"Tony? What's wrong?" enquired Tim, getting worried by DiNozzo's silence.

"Nothing!" growled Tony, exasperated by his teammate's undeserved good looks. "So, you're still trying to make believe people that you're in the military?"

"Yes, and so far it is working," answered McGee calmly.

"Yeah, well, you've stayed under the sun for too long and you've become delusional. You may wear army-issued clothes but you still have a long way to go before you ever start to build up a little bulk."

"We have exercise for two hours every morning, Tony. It is more than enough to get into shape, and the training cannot be compared to the one we endure at the NCIS gym."

"Still, you don't look like a soldier; just a tanned geek!"

"Too bad a lot of people here don't share your opinion," said Tim with a sigh. Obviously, Tony was not in the mood for reconciliation. "Is that all you have to say?"

"Nah, I wanted you to know that we're doing just fine without you," said a lying-through-his-teeth DiNozzo.

"You've got a new computer tech?"

"Nope and besides, it's not mandatory to have one! Gibbs wants us to solve crime cases in the good old-fashioned way, meaning with guts and brains. A real investigator ought to know when a witness is lying or concealing evidence, simply by looking at the guy's face instead of using any of those electronic gizmos you're so found about. Gibbs has always told us to trust our gut feelings and it works to the perfection. You've never seen Kojak or Columbo use a computer to solve crimes, have you? So, why should we?"

"Tony, you're talking nonsense. Kojak and Columbo have never been real detectives; they were only actors playing the same role for years. In our days and time, computers are indispensable in every aspect of murder investigations."

"Gibbs didn't use them when he was a non-commissioned officer in the military police and, after you've left us without prior notice, he decided it would help us to gain real detective skills if we refrained to rely on this Internet web-crawling thing that pollutes our minds. And it does us a lot of good, too!"

"I don't believe you, Tony. In fact, I'm ready to bet the other techs of Cyber-crimes have refused to work with Team Gibbs because they know too well his hate towards computers and those who know how to use them."

DiNozzo clenched his jaw in frustration; he had forgotten about Tim's smarts! Sam, sitting in the darkest corner of the room, was remembering when he was a little boy and his father had taken him to the forest, in autumn, to watch stags fighting each other during the mating season. Sam had been very impressed by the violence of heads impacting against one another, the locking of horns, the loud calls and on their way back, his father had jokingly told him human males had similar behavior.

"Believe what you want, but we're solving crimes with or without you. Maybe it takes us a bit more time, but at least we don't get crazy from your infernal typing all day long."

"Is Abby back at the lab?" asked Tim, trying to change the subject.

"Oh yes! And she's as excited as ever," answered Tony, omitting the whole business about Andrew Somerset and the altercation in Langdon Park, resulting in an extra six-week suspension. "She's throwing a mega-Halloween party at the end of the month, a huge thing that will keep the whole neighborhood awake for hours; too bad you won't be here to enjoy it!"

"I've been to Abby's Halloween parties before and they were a big fat waste of my time," said Tim. "Her Goth friends bore me to tears with their lame jokes, and the drinks were flat. I won't miss it, frankly."

Things were definitively not looking up; Tony had tried to belittle Tim's new physical appearance and it had failed, just like his lies about working without a computer tech and Abby's return. Moreover, he was quite aware the Halloween party had been cancelled since Abby had phoned Tony weeks ago to tell him all about it; he had to listen to her laments for hours, right when he was watching the 'Titanic' movie on his brand-new TV and it had not improved his mood at all.

Tim three, Tony zero. The great DiNozzo had only one last chance to strike, otherwise McGee would get a perfect score.

"Well, apart from this, life still goes on at NCIS. Ducky's still great, Jimmy's still a Gremlin… Oh, and for your information, Ziva and I are a couple."

That last lie caused Tim to jump slightly on his seat, and Tony grinned like a wolf. At least, one point against McGee!

"Ziva? She… _You're dating Ziva?_"

"Hell, yes. She's smart, she's sexy and she can fight. Why shouldn't I? Besides, she appreciates prime rib when she sees it."

"B-But what about Gibbs' rule twelve, _"Never date a co-worker"_?"

"What about it? In case it has escaped your attention, I can do anything I want; I'm Gibbs _**best**_ agent!"

Tim remained silent for a few seconds, digesting the news, and Tony felt his grin to fade slightly on his lips. A small part of his brains was screaming at him to stop, to tell Probie that this whole thing had been nothing but a prank but his jealousy got the better of him. Tony had seen several times Director Vance getting out of the MTAC room on Fridays with a smug smile on his face, a tell-tale sign that things were working smoothly in Afghanistan and, to add insult to injury, even Gibbs seemed happy! The Senior Agent simply could not bear the thought that McGee was doing so well without them, and it was high time to settle the record right.

Then, Tim sighed and said: "I wish you both well," before cutting off the communication. DiNozzo found himself staring at a rainbow screen and an awful feeling, the kind telling him he had been too far, started to invade his mind but he brushed it off angrily. No, he had not exaggerated! Ziva and he had been flirting for years: it was only a matter of days before she would succumb to the legendary DiNozzo charm so their dating would become genuine. And Probie did not need to know about their troubles; it would have pleased him too much to know his departure had left Team Gibbs in an uproar!

"Open the door!" roared Tony in the general direction of Sam, who got up and typed a code on the digital keyboard in a hurry.

The doors slides open and Tony stepped out to leave the MTAC room, but not before leaving one last warning to the technician:

"Not a word about this to anyone or you'll regret it, do you hear?"

Sam nodded feebly and started to breathe again only after the doors had closed; He was wondering what deity he had offended in a former life that he had to assist to **two** combats between alpha-males in less than an hour…

TBC…


	38. A seduction

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- I've posted this new chapter last evening but many of my wonderful reviewers sent a message saying they had no end of trouble opening it; so I am posting it again, with the hopes it will work better this time.

- Charlie Brown and the Little Red-Haired Girl are characters from the 'Peanuts' comic strips, created by America's most beloved cartoonist, Charles M. Schulz (1922-2000).

- The Klondike Gold Rush was a migration of about 100,000 prospectors to the Klondike region of the Yukon, Canada from 1896 to 1899 (from Wikipedia).

- To Zirkankrais: I think you're going to like this chapter and the next one as well! ;-)

- To Guest, None and Earthdragon: Tony has really done it this time, and I'm not certain yet Ziva will ever forgive him for his lie. She still is upset about him double-crossing Tim for the mission in Iraq and Tony won't get away with a movie quote and a charming smile.

- To T'Seven: I'm sorry you find the story too long, but the muse orders and I must obey xD

- To Mirage: thank you very much for your kind words!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 38: A seduction<strong>

Alone in his closet-like bedroom, Tim was sitting on his cot, turning the Dark Dove between his hands. It was late and he should have gone to sleep hours ago, but he was wide awake – with Tony's words still ringing in his ears.

_Ziva and I are a couple..._

_A couple..._

_Ziva and I..._

_We're a couple._

_A couple!_

Tim knew he should not let this declaration affect him but, in spite of all his efforts, he could not help but be upset. Ziva and Tony were dating; they were together; intimate; they had plans for the future – plans that certainly did not include the presence of a computer geek. And it hurt!

Ziva had been the only one who had approved his decision to go to Afghanistan from the very beginning; she had been revolted by Abby's scandal and doubtless she had given the Lab Rat a piece of her mind about it; she had braved Gibbs' wrath to give Tim a very useful farewell present and the young man would never forget the Dark Dove slashing at his aggressor in the showers' room. The weapon had saved his life and Tim would be eternally grateful to Ziva for this but... When she had hugged him good-bye at his flat, it had felt so nice to hold her... For a moment, he had thought Ziva was feeling the same...

Emeralds shone in anger at the thought of the dove-eyed woman being with Tony. Knowing the man, he had probably taken her to a movie theater, stuffed her with popcorn, and then proposed to watch another movie on his super-sized TV with state-of-the-art Blu-Ray DVD player, just before jumping on her bones while talking his head off about himself. Ziva had succumbed to Tony's charms, and why shouldn't she? Tony had flirt with the woman since her debuts at NCIS; Tim remembered too vividly their banter while looking at the display screens, Tony whispering more-or-less subtle innuendos and Ziva answering with veiled threats and sexy sidelong glances.

It had been a matter of time before those two would become an item and McGee had been deluding himself by wrongly thinking Ziva would ever become interested in him. He was nothing compared to DiNozzo who was taller, funnier, handsomer, full of self-confidence with a smile that came out of a toothpaste commercial. Tony would also resort to belittlement and disloyalty to reach his goals, with no-one daring to stop him on pain of being relentlessly ridiculed in public. The Magnificent DiNozzo, the Infallible DiNozzo, the Get-outta-my-way DiNozzo, of course he would always end up winning First Prize! It was evident he would always get everything he wanted! Women, accolades, missions, rank, all was due to Tony DiNozzo! _He was Gibbs' adopted son!__** He was Tony DiHero!**_

Furious, Tim made the movement to throw the Dark Dove across his little room but his good sense stopped him in mid-motion; hurling objects was an action worthy of an angry toddler, but not of an adult who happened to be an undercover federal agent in a war zone! Getting mad won't help his mission, and the base's rumor mill would go like crazy if the word was ever spread about the quiet Lieutenant McGee trashing his room. General Stephenson would be disappointed by his behavior and even The Watcher's good results won't be enough to erase a scandal.

Sighing loudly, Tim let his arm down; in his hand, the Dark Dove seemed to have lost some radiance. McGee caught his reflection in the darkened blade and it felt as if the weapon was silently asking: _"What's wrong, buddy?"_

"Gosh, how could they? How could they do such a thing?" asked Tim with a low voice, his throat tightening from emotion. "Making a mockery of Gibbs' rules as soon as my back is turned? DiNozzo, I can understand; he's so self-centered that he can't resist rubbing my face in the dirt, plus the fact he was green of envy about the mission in Afghanistan. He'd deny it tooth and nails but I saw it in the conference room, he was furious about me being chosen over him for The Watcher's project – as if he had the competences to write a computer program in the first place! But regardless of that small detail, Tony felt this mission **should **have been granted to him, just like **every **mission should be granted to him since he's Very Special Agent DiNozzo and to Hell with McGee. This was the only time he couldn't push me aside and it's not the kind of thing Tony will ever forget; I knew he'd 'avenge' his pride by playing a dirty trick but I've never thought he would abase himself to the point of dating Ziva just to spite me. Another brilliant move from TonyDiJerko!"

A sigh followed by a long silence, and then Tim carried on with his monologue: "God, I'm talking like the Cyber-Crimes guys; Tony thinks he's the only one allowed to give derogatory nicknames to co-workers, since he's Gibbs' heir and all the rest of it – but if only he knew! He never goes to Cyber-Crimes because he thinks it unworthy of a man of his stature to go down the basement, and it's just as well; the computer techs have a very long list of names for him and it is pinned on the wall of the division! DiNavel, DiJerko, DiPizzaiollo, DiBackstabber, DiLousyLover, DiJackass and I've forgotten the rest... I've told the Cyber guys to not do that but they refused to listen; they said I may be naive enough thinking Tony would change his attitude, but they weren't! And they were right... When, when, when? When will I _**ever **_learn?"

Discouraged, Tim dropped the knife on the floor and fell back on his cot, uncaring about messing up the bedding. He was too distraught to even grab Jimmy's MP4 and soothe his mind with music, so he had to make with staring at the black ceiling while unraveling his somber thoughts.

"And Ziva... Oh, I suppose it's my own fault. I was too shy to dare thinking we could be more than friends, and I've lost my chance with her. I acted like Charlie Brown wooing the Little Red-Haired Girl from afar, just to be devastated because she doesn't even know what he looks like! I should have asked Ziva for a date regardless of Gibbs' rules, instead of wasting time with Abby. And now it's too late, McGee: Ziva has chosen, so be a gentleman and respect her decision. At least, I didn't make a fool out of me in front of Tony; he would have been too happy to see me distraught at the news of them being together. At least, I've earned this hollow victory but it has a bittersweet taste, by golly. I'm ready to bet ten-to-one Tony will have a triumphant smile on his face at my return to NCIS, and he'll shout for the next ten years or so that I may have been in Afghanistan but in the end, he has won the jackpot! Oh Ziva, why didn't you see me? **Why can't any woman sees the real me, under the computer geek?**"

Something poked Tim in the ribs, under his olive green T-shirt, making the young man frown; the Dark Dove was lying on the floor so he could not be skewered by his own weapon but then, he remembered the sheath he wore against his skin. Taking off the T-shirt completely, he glanced down and saw what the problem was: the strap fixing the sheath to his torso had moved and Tim, lost in his sorrow, had not noticed until that moment. He unfastened the strap and put it back into the sheath's loops and then, he saw the words that had been engraved by Ziva on the sheath's leather: _'T. McGee, brother'_.

"Well, here's your answer, genius," mumbled Tim, mentally slapping himself for not having realized it earlier. Ziva had arrived in the USA under painful circumstances, after NCIS Special Agent Kate Todd had been murdered by Ari, Ziva's half-brother and renegade Mossad spy. Ziva's official mission was to mend the rift between the two agencies with her liaison status, whereas unofficially she had been put in charge to find and eliminate Ari, by any means necessary.

She had done the job, as distasteful as it was, and then Ziva had worked very hard to become an integral part of Team Gibbs. Her ferocity, fighting skills and take-no-crap attitude had done wonders in subduing Tony and Abby, who had quickly learned they had better treat carefully around her; even Gibbs had to admit Ziva was an exceptional recruit, quite a feat to achieve! But even after all those years, a part of Ziva was still upset by Ari's implication in Kate's death; one of her blood relatives had been responsible for many deaths, including an American federal agent and it must have been crushing for the ex-Mossad woman. And then, she had found a surrogate sibling in McGee, the only one who had welcomed her cordially at NCIS... But if Tim replaced Ari in Ziva's brotherly affections, it also meant he could never become her lover. Tony, on the other hand, had been considered as a colleague, giving him free rein to seduce the beautiful and lethal woman.

"I suppose I have to content myself with this," concluded Tim with a sigh. "I'm Ziva's adopted brother and she will fight to the death for me, which should be more than enough. There are not many people I can count on in time of great need; in fact, who can I rely on? Sarah – certainly; Penny – too often absent; Ziva – without doubts; Ducky – yes, but he's frail; Jimmy – he's too young; Stephenson – he needs me; Vance – if he can. But apart from them? Tony – too busy with his navel; Abby – same thing; Gibbs – not anymore; Fornell – why would he care; Kort – I'd as soon see the Devil himself!; my friends at Cyber Crimes – they have families; the other NCIS agents – they barely know me; the guys I play on-line games with – get real, they are not real friends! So, there you have it, McGee: only seven persons out of the 7.064 billion people living on Earth would actually rush to my rescue, so I should be happy to have an ex-Mossad amongst them... Not that I wish to be in a situation involving a rescue, of course."

A knock at the door interrupted Tim's musings. He got up but remembered just in time his half-naked state, the crumpled bed with a knife's sheath lying on top of the sheets, the Dark Dove discarded on the floor. Good grief, it could be a visit from General Stephenson and Tim could not answer the door in such a disheveled state! He put the T-shirt back on in a flash, straightened the bedcovers with a swipe of the hand, picked up the Dark Dove and sheathed it – but he did not have the time to strap the weapon around his torso so he hid it behind his back. Once he was finally ready, Tim opened the door and his aching heart jumped inside his chest at the sight of his visitor: Aimee Wilkins!

"Captain Wilkins?"

"Hello, Lieutenant McGee. I wanted to know if I could treat you for coffee and a chat - provided you're off-duty, naturally."

Tim remained stunned for a few seconds; he had never imagined Aimee would come to see him in his room and invite him for coffee! He nearly dropped the Dark Dove out of surprise and only a discreet, desperate grip of his fingers on the strap stopped the life-saving weapon from hitting the floor for the second time.

"Oh! Er... Well, yes, I am and coffee sounds great!"

"That's wonderful, Lieutenant. Thank you for accepting my invitation."

"D-Do you mind if I change my shirt? It's kind of rumpled..." stuttered Tim; he liked to think he had good manners and he would not be caught dead having coffee with a lady while wearing a rag.

Aimee had a small smile: "Please do, Lieutenant. I'll wait outside."

Tim blushed and rushed back inside his room, leaving the door ajar. Thanking his lucky stars that he had his clothes washed the previous day, he started to undress but his dog tags got somehow entangled with the hem of his T-shirt and he struggled for a minute, prying the metallic chain out of the hem. Fine time to get stuck in his own clothes!

Aimee's interest about this peculiar Lieutenant had increased greatly during the past few weeks. At first, she had thought him a pleasant person to talk to, someone who was not rude or crude and it made a nice change from the usual grunts she had to deal with at the hospital. But what struck her had been the realization that McGee was genuine in his modesty, his altruism, his gentleness; in the past, Aimee had met men who faked those qualities to lure her to bed, and once the deed was done they would walk away laughing at her crushed hopes – but something was telling her that McGee was not that kind of churlish person, and she had a strong chance to develop a relationship with a good man... A _real _good man.

Her curiosity was too strong and she could not resist taking a peek through the gap between the door and its frame; Tim had finally managed to untangle the dog tags' chain from the T-shirt's hem and he had thrown the offensive garment into his locker; unknowingly, he was offering his naked back to Aimee's appreciation and the young woman felt her throat tightening at the sight.

_Broad shoulders... Good muscles... Hairless skin..._

Tim raised his left arm to reach for a clean shirt on an upper shelf and the movement gave Aimee a glimpse of skin hidden beneath the belt. She stopped her peeking and retreated in the corridor, her eyes closing at the memory of the narrow hip she had just seen for a second... The kind of hip that begged to be caressed during...

"_To think he's single!"_ thought Aimee suddenly. _"He doesn't wear a band on his ring finger, he hasn't mentioned any fiancée or girlfriend and he's obviously interested in the fair sex so what has he been doing, dating ultra-stupid girls since high school? Spending all his time alone with figures and numbers? Or maybe he's too withdrawn to ask for a date? Strange, for a man in the military! But still, I'd rather take my chances with a shy guy than with a brute, like that disgusting Sergeant Miller!"_

The door opened, revealing a Timothy McGee with a kind smile on his face. His dog tags were displayed on a fresh T-shirt and he had taken the time to secure the Dark Dove against his torso; the weapon was a gift from Ziva and in spite of everything, she was still dear to him. Furthermore, Tim was in a war zone filled with dangers and he would not deprive himself of a weapon, out of a childish resentment for a woman who had not been aware of his budding feelings for her in the first place.

"Shall we go, then?" asked Aimee. Lieutenant McGee was looking fine, indeed.

"Please lead the way, Captain."

* * *

><p>Moments later, Tim and Aimee were enjoying drinks at the deserted mess hall, talking and laughing. The Doctor was telling stories about her time at medical school, juggling with part-time jobs and endless hours of study while enduring annoying fellow students and exploring the amazing wonders of the human body. Tim was realizing that beneath Aimee's smooth exterior was beating the heart of a lioness, as she was recounting the tricks she would play on a particularly odious student who went by the name of Charles Augustus Featherstonehaugh-Harrington, fourth of the name.<p>

"That guy was simply disgusting," said Aimee. "I wouldn't have minded that his ancestors came from a noble family of England, or his great-grandfather been one of the few who actually struck rich during the Klondike Gold Rush, or even his heroic grandfather covered with medals during World War II and his father running for Congress, but the constant boasting of that show-off was more than I could bear! And woe to you if you ever dared to call him by a simple 'Charles', or even 'Chuck': no, you had to use his full title and almost bow in front of him."

"Not feeling too modest, did he?" asked Tim while taking a sip of his coffee.

"Oh God, no – but what ticked me off was the fact that he was a cheater. Charles Augustus was a dunce but he had to win his diploma by any means possible – no dishonor upon his family allowed – so, in order to keep his GPA up, he dangled promises in front of the most vulnerable students, in the lines of: write my anatomy paper and I'll make sure you get the grant you wish for; let me copy from your biology test and you'll find a check in your letter box; you have your eye on a girl? Do my physiology coursework and I'll arrange a rendezvous with her… Well, you get the idea, Lieutenant."

"Quite," said Tim, remembering a few tedious moments at John Hopkins and MIT.

"Of course, Charles Augustus didn't precise _when_ the students would get their money or favor; in fact, some of them are still probably waiting for their fee as we speak! So when this cheater turned his attention towards me, I knew I had to teach him a lesson; we were having a big chemistry test the next day and, since he knew I was in financial dire straits, he offered me money so I would pass him my rough copies during the exam. And I did!"

"Really?" asked an astonished McGee.

"Yes, but during the exam, I wrote two rough copies: one with my real results, and another filled with deliberate mistakes. I gave Charles Augustus the sabotaged version and, since he had never learnt a thing about chemistry, he copied the errors without suspecting a thing. Oh, the look on his face when he got his results back! And when he learned my score, it was priceless: he had the nerve to ask me for an explanation!"

"He didn't get violent, did he?"

"Frankly, Lieutenant, cheaters are nothing but cowards to the bone. A good kick in the family jewels stopped short Charles Augustus' attempts of intimidation. I told him the whole story while he was groaning on the dorm's floor, holding his damaged heritage with both hands and it took him about twenty minutes to get back on his feet; mind you, word spread around campus about what had happened and Charles Augustus never found another student to con… He got kicked out of med school for his poor results and the last I've heard he had been hired by his father, to 'advise' him during his run for Congress – meaning his advice was limited in folding brochures and serving coffee at campaign headquarters."

Tim busted out laughing: "Remind me to never irate you, Captain!"

"I've always believed in bullies getting their just desserts, Lieutenant. But enough talk about me, please give some insights about you; do you have a woman waiting for you in the States?"

Tim's emerald-colored eyes darkened at the question, and Aimee got worried for a second that she might have been tactless.

"Sorry, Lieutenant, have I embarrassed you?"

"N-No! It's just… Well… It's complicated…" said Tim, hating this damn stuttering coming back at the worst time. Years of being mocked about his sexuality had conditioned him to remain as discreet as possible about his love life – especially after the disasters he had encountered: Abby crushing his heart under her platform boots, Amanda trying to kill him or the serial killer wiping his bank accounts clean, to name a few. Those incidents had given Tony an endless supply of taunts to shout loudly all over the bullpen, while the Senior Agent conveniently forgot about his own involvement with Dr. Jeanne Benoît, daughter of a notorious French arm dealer figuring on top of NCIS' 'most wanted' list! But of course, this peculiar incident had been conveniently swept under the carpet – Tony was Gibbs' son, after all.

Tim had come to think he was doomed to remain alone for the rest of his life, an opinion widely approved by Tony, who could not imagine any guy but him scoring on Saturday nights. Abby's scandal in the bullpen, plus the recent news of Ziva getting intimate with the Senior Agent, had definitively crushed McGee's hopes to ever find a soul mate. But then he had flown to Afghanistan, found a new boss in General Stephenson, a new friend in Corporal Roberts, and…

Tim raised his eyes towards Aimee's face, illuminated by her clear blue eyes and framed by her blond hair. She looked beautiful and her expression was so caring, so… _concerned_, it felt like an arrow of goodness was shot straight at his heart and melted there, erasing the deceptions, the mockeries, the lies Tim had endured from the fair sex since his teenage years. And Aimee Wilkins was not the kind to gossip; Stephenson had nothing but good things to say about her, Roberts had confirmed her discretion and McGee trusted their judgment.

"Complicated, how?" asked the Captain gently.

Tim took a deep breath and took the plunge – while keeping his cover story in mind, as usual.

"I-I used to be in a relationship with a woman, years ago. I met her during my college days and she was very eccentric – the kind of person you never forget. She was heavily involved in the Punk/Goth/Rock movement so she dressed and acted accordingly, and it was quite a shock for me who had a rather… classical upbringing."

"She must have been very young, then? A teenager?"

"Oh, no!" exclaimed Tim, worried Aimee would think of him as a cradle-robber. "Actually, she is a few years older than me."

Aimee's blue eyes widened slightly: "You met her at University, she was older than you, and she was still following rock bands like a prepubescent? Not exactly mature, if you ask me."

"Well, at first I thought she was cool – the kind of girl who doesn't give a damn about what the world thinks of her. Her small flat looked like a vampire's lair, she dressed like Halloween was celebrated every day but she had a good scientific mind and it was what drawn me to her at the beginning. It was refreshing to see a person who could talk about science while being the life and soul of every party at the Uni."

"Sounds more like a girl with a serious _'Look-at-me'_ problem! What was her name?"

"Amy," answered Tim at once, remembering the alias he had given Abby for his 'Deep Six' books. "Well, what I didn't realize was her vast charming powers: with her ragged-and-metal outfit, plus the tattoos adorning her skin, one would think she was a hard nut to crack but quite the contrary! In fact, Amy cultivated a pseudo-vulnerable side with floods of tears and octopus-like hugs, all this to charm men who could become… _useful_ for her."

"Useful?"

"Yes, like giving her a lift to attend a concert, clean up her flat after a party, fix her old car, give her a hand with coursework, or be her temporary sex partner… And I have to admit I fell right into her trap; I honestly thought we could have a relationship based on feelings for each other so I became her lover/handyman but, once she had her fun, she dumped me on the basis that I was too 'square' for her tastes and we had no future together."

"_That Amy is a manipulative hussy,"_ thought Aimee Wilkins.

"I took our breakup very hard, and for years I immerged myself in math problems and computers on-line games, to forget her – imagine my surprise when, years afterwards, I met her again at my new job!"

"And has she changed her attitude a bit?"

"Not at all; Amy was still the same person: dressed like a groupie, attending rock concerts as if her life depended on it and changing of boyfriends almost every week. And I was the same fool, either: we dated for a while and then Amy dumped me again, on the same grounds. But that wasn't the worst part: I tried to date other women and Amy went wild with jealousy!"

Out of surprise, Aimee almost dropped her cup of coffee on the mess hall's table.

"She gave you the elbow, and then she didn't want you to see other women? Amy should make up her stupid mind!"

"Yes, it was quite an awkward situation; I wasn't worthy enough to be Amy's lover but at least she could grant me the title of 'admirer'. Consequently, dating other women was an act of treason to her eyes, as I couldn't rush to her aid anytime she'd blow her whistle. It was like dealing with a movie star or an opera diva, you see? They crave for attention, they want spotlights and the audience to be focused on them, and as soon as another person steps in, it causes a drama of terrible proportions. And… Well, I had to admit I didn't have enough backbone to refuse her: not only would she throw a tantrum at the first irritation, but she also benefitted from the protection of an older man."

"Oh, my God… A sugar daddy?"

"No, nothing of the sort; the man in question had lost his daughter in a car crash, and Amy replaced her. Since he is of the overprotective kind and he has enough power to make my life a living Hell at work, I had no other options than to keep my mouth shut whenever she would put me in trouble, and then abase myself low enough to earn her forgiveness. Besides, every one of my attempts in dating other women ended up in a catastrophe, enforcing Amy's conviction that I should give up trying to find someone else and content myself in being her doormat."

"So, to describe Amy's personality, we have: immature, narcissist, manipulative, hypocrite, inconsiderate and suffocating. Quite a picture! Oh, and also: borderline blackmailer, since you lived under the constant fear of losing your job in case the missy ever gets frustrated – and don't tell me you're not courageous, Lieutenant; it doesn't take a rocket scientist to see you have the heart of a lion and, had you not been under threat, you would have told off this young lady ages ago – but politely, since you're a gentleman to the core. Amy is an egotistical little pest throwing dust in the eyes of people to make believe she's a vulnerable creature who needs protection, but no one can manipulate other persons and imagine getting away with it forever! Life always presents us with the bill – and the longer it takes, the harsher it is."

"Oh well, I don't have to worry about Amy manipulating me in the future," concluded Tim with a sigh. "She started making a scene about me leaving for Afghanistan but I cut the ranting and ravings short but telling her we were done, and it was final."

"Good for you!"

"Yes, it was quite a shock for her; I don't think she had ever been rebuffed by anyone before, and not even her protector could shield her. With retrospect, I wonder why I've lost so much time with her – probably because I stupidly thought I could broaden her mind, making her realize there's more in life than Goth music concerts and her pierced navel but it was a lost cause from the very beginning."

"And you've haven't found another woman… A nice one?"

Tim sighed, remembering Ziva and all the cases they've worked on, side by side; how she botched the English language, her fury after learning he had based one of his books' characters on her, her rallying Tony in 'bashing-Tim-all-day-long' until she had seen the errors of her ways… And McGee, too self-conscious about his then-overweight and too engrossed by Abby's whims, had missed every opportunity to ask Ziva out until it had been too late.

"No, but there was a co-worker who has intrigued me for a while… Her name is Lisa," answered Tim, using a 'Deep Six' pseudonym once again. "She's completely different: straightforward, a bit scary and with a no-nonsense attitude to boot! She is cute, too, but hard as nails and it took me a while to earn a bit of consideration from her. Then, our working relationship developed into a friendship but she considers me more like a brother than a potential lover. Her brother died a few years ago and, according to what I've learned about him, there wasn't much to mourn about. So, I guess she sought for a replacement and found me."

"_Another idiot," _thought Captain Wilkins._ "With his eyes and his good heart, I would have jumped on McGee's bones years ago!"_

"So you've never asked her out?"

"No, and even if I wanted to do so, it's too late now… I've recently learned Lisa is dating another guy; the confident, funny, protected kind of man to whom success is a birthright. It's just as well, though; asking Lisa for a date would have earned me only a rebuff and I've got my share of it!"

A silence followed Tim's words and they finished their coffees quickly. Jackson the cook, with his perpetual cigarette butt stuck at the corner of his mouth, glared at the couple but said nothing; it was better to go back to his duties and wait until Miller would show up, so Jackson would fill him in with the latest gossips about that weakling of a Lieutenant and the uppity Captain… even if the Sergeant had made himself scarce lately – something about a strained muscle in his thigh…

* * *

><p>Tim and Aimee left the mess hall and the young man, remembering his manners, had proposed to accompany the Doctor to her private quarters – an offer gratefully accepted. It was around midnight, ISAF was functioning on a skeleton crew and the intruder's shadow was still looming above everyone's head. The man still had not been found and his disappearance was keeping the soldiers on the edge, since mysteries were not appreciated in the military.<p>

Once they had reached the medical staff's rooms, Tim smiled and said:

"Thank you for the coffee, Captain Wilkins. I've appreciated our conversation very much."

"Before you leave, Lieutenant, may I tell you something?"

"Yes, of course."

Aimee took a deep breath to steel her nerves, and said: "There goes: in my opinion, both Amy and Lisa are absolute fools."

McGee's face turned instantly into a deep shade of red, floored by the Doctor's declaration.

"WHAT? But… W-What makes you think so? I mean…"

"Simply because a woman uninterested in you can only be a fool, and that's the truth. I've met a lot of people in my life and some guys played with my heart before throwing it away like last week's garbage because they didn't have an ounce of decency within them while you, Lieutenant McGee, are the most caring man I've ever seen. You don't swagger about, boasting about your accomplishments or use your handsomeness to crush women under your heel – in fact, I'm ready to bet this idea would never cross your mind!"

"Me? H-Handsome? But…"

"You are a _**decent**_ man, Lieutenant, and I'm not afraid to say it out loud. You care; you always give the best of you at work; you're committed in helping people, no matter the slime you get thrown at your head in return; you never give up; you see the best in others and you're always ready to give them a chance – God, McGee, do you realize how precious you are?"

"Captain…"

"Tim."

Any coherent thought escaped Timothy McGee's mind as Aimee Wilkins stood on tiptoes and kissed him tenderly. The young man, stunned beyond words, felt his world explode under the force of a new love; the base, the war, the dangers, everything disappeared in a second and the only thing he could feel was the soft contact of Aimee's lips on his, her hands caressing his blushing face, her scent made of soap mixed with a hint of fresh coffee and a unique smell he could only identify as **her**, the woman who had swept away all his insecurities and given him her heart, simply because she had looked deeper into a mere computer geek and loved the treasure hidden beneath.

Tim kissed her back and she moaned softly, their bodies pressed against one another. Aimee caressed his back, his shoulders, the back of his head with the palm of her hand, messing up slightly his short brown-blond hair. Tim felt vertigo seizing him at the feeling of a female body – a strong, finely-shaped female body – so close to his and he cradled her face between his hands, drinking her kisses like a lost man would do with the water of a miraculous steam found in the middle of the desert.

Air needs forced them to unlock their months after a while, and the young man stared at the miracle in the shape of a woman who was looking at him with love-filled eyes.

"Aimee, you… You are wonderful…"

"So are you, Tim," said the Doctor and she pressed the tip of her nose against his, making McGee to chuckle softly.

"Are… are you sure? I mean… I don't want to compromise you… You're a Captain, with a good career here, a respected medical doctor… I'm just a guy passing by, and I'll leave Afghanistan in a few months and…"

His fears were silenced with another kiss; uncaring that they were standing in a military base's corridor and they could be spotted by MPs at any moment, Tim wrapped his arms around Aimee and held her tightly, overwhelmed by emotion. They both sighed when the kiss deepened, tongues dueling as passion seized them, alone in the world with only the stars shining behind windows to witness their embrace. Tim ran his hands along Aimee's spine; she lifted his T-shirt a little and caressed his hips, causing the young man to shiver slightly in spite of the warm temperatures. He wanted to give her more, so much more…

Alas, loud voices broke their magical moment. Tim and Aimee broke their kiss and jumped in a shadowed corner before turning about: it was a pair of orderlies who were pushing a tray filled with clean sheets while arguing between themselves about how it was Ralphie's fault that they were late for making the patients' beds, to whom Ralphie protested of his innocence and stated it was, in fact, Mick's fault for having wasted too much time sending e-mails to his girlfriend at home and what took him so long to write, anyway? Mick shot back that if Ralphie had a girlfriend, he would not ask such stupid questions and they'd better shake a leg if they didn't want to be in trouble with the doctor on duty.

Too engrossed in their heated discussion, the two men never noticed the couple hiding in the shadows; they kept on walking down the corridor and disappeared behind a corner, their argument not stopping for a second. Tim and Aimee looked at each other, torn between laughter and frustration; their hearts were still beating wildly from desire and the very close call they had just experienced, and the orderlies' sudden apparition had been a sharp reminder they had to be discreet.

"Tim…"

"Aimee…"

"My love, I have to go," sighed the young woman while giving him a brief kiss on the lips.

"Oh, Aimee! I want to see you again," said Tim, close to tears.

"Hush, beloved, we have all the time in the world. Are you free tomorrow evening?"

Tim thought about it; The Watcher's next run was not scheduled before two days, thanks to a massive thunderstorm approaching the region of Kabul. General Stephenson had not wanted to risk Tim's safety by sending him out in the desert in this kind of weather, where visibility would be reduced to the maximum and communication could be compromised by static caused by lightning. Tim had been a bit annoyed by the General's decision at the time, since The Watcher had to be tested under any situation; but with retrospect, he could not thank Stephenson enough…

"Yes, I'm off-duty for the next two days."

"Come to see me here, at 9:00 p.m. tomorrow – just pretend you need some aspirin for a headache. I have a room here at the hospital, located at the farthest part of the building; it's very quiet… We will be safe. Will you come?"

"Oh God, yes."

A kiss sealed Tim's promise while, in the Western sky, clouds started to gather as an omen of the future thunderstorm.

TBC…


	39. A passion

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- Tim and Aimee's love scene… Poetic, not graphic!

- Some readers may have found it difficult to believe Aimee would profess her love to Tim so quickly… The answer's in this chapter.

- "Carpe diem" is a phrase taken from the poem _Odes 1.11_, written by Roman lyric poet Horace (65 BC – 8 BC). The full phrase is: _Carpe diem quam minimum credula postero_, translated as "Seize the day, putting as little trust as possible in the next day" (from Wikipedia).

- To Guest: I'm sorry you don't like the way this story is evolving, but may I advise you to keep on reading?

- To Earthdragon: worry not; Aimee is not setting a trap for Tim! ;-)

- To Calian: all I can tell you is… This is a McGiva story!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 39: A passion<strong>

The promised storm arrived the next day, right on schedule; pouring rain, lightning and loud thunder mastered the skies for hours, making it impossible for the human population living in and around Kabul to go on with their daily routine. Farmers kept their flocks safe in sheepfolds; shopkeepers had not opened up their businesses, resigned at the thought they would not have customers; schools had also remained closed and only the muezzins' calls had remained undisturbed by the weather, inviting believers to pray at the mosques. In the evening, the rain stopped just to be replaced by howling winds carrying sand everywhere, suffocating and blinding the very few people who had dared to come out, promptly discouraging them in trying to brave the elements.

At ISAF, the foul weather had been the main subject of conversation all day. Soldiers had evoked the possibility of lightning might struck the generators, plunging the whole base into the dark and thus making it vulnerable to attacks; a few of them, more self-centered, were more worried about a power cut preventing them from sending e-mails to their families. In the meantime, vehicles, ammunitions and weapons had been secured from the elements and men enjoyed the comfort of the barracks, apart from the unlucky ones who were out on guard duty for the night.

Tim had found it difficult to sleep the night before; Aimee's declaration had haunted his thoughts for hours and, after his brains had finally shut down, his dreams had been filled with images of the amazing Captain – but alas, his insecurity had disturbed any felicity he could have felt. Once, he had dreamed Aimee had invited him for a romantic coffee and then she would cruelly laugh at him along with the people of ISAF – including General Stephenson, Roberts and Sergeant Miller. Another time, he had imagined he was pushing open the door of Aimee's room to find her wearing sexy Goth attire and heavy black make-up, a horrible caricature of Abby. The last dream had been the worst: Aimee was purely and simply pushing him aside and then she walked away hand-in-hand with Tony!

That had made Tim to sit up in his bunk, gasping for air; only after long minutes passed had he been able to calm down, before his reason had made him realize the absurdity of those dreams. Aimee was not Abby, Ziva, Amanda or anybody else for that matter: she was her own person, with a strong personality, a clever mind and she had confessed her love for him! This declaration had floored Tim, as he had despaired to ever inspire such ardent feelings in a decent woman met in the safety of his homeland. And yet, by a strange twist of fate, Tim had found the girl of his dreams in a war-ravaged country, during an undercover mission, while involved in a secret project that could save hundreds of soldiers' lives! Life was crazy!

But those things did not matter. Aimee had chosen him and he should not waste time reminiscing his previous failures with women, like he would have done if he had stayed home. The Latin locution _Carpe Diem_, "Seize the day", made a lot of sense in Afghanistan and for Tim, the present had Aimee's face.

After this too-short night, the daily exercises at the crack of dawn had been hard to endure – soldiers were training every day, rain or shine – and it had taken several cups of coffee for Tim to regain enough strength before heading for the Logistics Support room. Thanks to his ability to concentrate, Tim had chased away Captain Wilkins from his thoughts for the duration of the day to focus exclusively on his laptop, stopping only for a brief midday chow at the mess hall – nothing in the world prevent him to work on The Watcher, not even a romantic rendezvous and Tim knew Aimee would not let herself be distracted from her duties towards her patients, either. They both were of the same kind, conscientious and reliable: a character trait that had stopped them from being the life and soul of students' parties but in the end, Tim and Aimee had reached heights that their former classmates could not have imagined.

He called it a day around six o'clock and returned to his room for a few hours of much-needed rest. He secured his laptop in the locker as usual, but he took the extra precaution of unplugging the hard drive and hid it inside his trunk. Any thief trying to walk off with the computer would find himself holding only an empty shell. This time, no dreams perturbed his slumber and when his watch beeped at 8:00 p.m., Tim was refreshed by his nap and quite looking forward to his clandestine meeting with… "her".

A quick wash, a shave, a set of clean clothes, the Dark Dove nestled against his torso, and he was ready. Living in a military base could not allow him to buy flowers but nonetheless, he had found a gift for Aimee and he had wrapped it in a sheet of stationery paper before slipping it in his pocket. A modest gift, for certain, but hopefully she would appreciate the thought.

Tim locked the door of his closet-sized room behind him. A quick glance at the windows confirmed him the sand storm was still raging on; the corridors were getting deserted, as the night shift would take place soon. Tim tried to remain surreptitious as he walked towards the hospital: it was not the time for a chance encounter with Roberts or General Stephenson, or – even worse – to run into the irascible Sergeant Miller! But chance favored him as he only met a few soldiers on the way, who saluted him briefly before going back to their duties.

At the hospital, Tim asked for treatment about a pseudo-headache he had, and a bored-looking nurse's aide gave him the direction of the pharmacy, where he would be advised and served. McGee thanked the man and he quickly found the pharmacy, but he had no intention of entering it. Aimee had told him she had a place at the hospital where she could sleep after her shifts and was too tired to go to her private quarters. Look for the pharmacy, she had told him, and then turn right at the corridor, go down a staircase, turn left and find a green door; cross the threshold and at the end of the corridor, there would be a metallic door marked _'No admittance except medical staff'_.

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><p>Tim found his way quickly, his heart beating so loud he got afraid someone might hear it; he was nervous as Hell and yet, he also felt a confidence he had never felt before meeting a woman – probably because he was certain Aimee was sincere in her affections towards him. The metallic door opened as soon as Tim raised his fist to knock on it: Aimee had heard his footsteps down in the corridor.<p>

"Tim!"

"Aimee…"

She grabbed him by the hand and led him inside, before slamming the door shut; she locked it securely and looked at Tim with an impish smile on her face:

"Alone at last!"

"Yes, it seems so," said Tim as the federal agent in him made him take a quick look at his surroundings. The room, entirely painted in dark grey, had little furniture apart from a simple, neatly made soldier's bed with white sheets and a dark blanket, a chair serving as a bedside table and a few boxes tucked in a corner. The only light came from a lamp fixed on the ceiling. There were no windows, only an air vent just like in Tim's private quarters.

"Where are we?" asked Tim, looking at Aimee; she was only wearing a grey T-shirt and MCCUU trousers, her feet were bare on the cold concrete floor, and yet she managed to look adorable. Tim felt a blush coloring his face.

"It used to be the private quarters of a doctor," answered Aimee, amused by the shade of red coloring the young man's face. "A misanthropic kind of guy; he always ate alone, kept to himself and remained in the hospital's basement all the time – people here called him _'The undertaker_! He didn't last long, though: one day, he adamantly refused to do morning exercises because the sun was too bright for him; he got blamed for insubordination and got shipped off elsewhere – much to everyone's relief. The guy had a knack for draining the zest of life out of anyone and we sure don't need this kind of person around this base, but sometimes I use his old room when I'm too tired to go to my own quarters."

"What we need are people who give us hope, joy and love, just like you."

"Tim…"

"I-I have something for you," said McGee, taking out the paper-covered gift out of his pocket and presenting it to his woman. Aimee accepted it graciously, and then unwrapped the present to reveal… a beautiful desert rose, round in shape with pink and brown 'petals', looking just like a petrified flower bud.

"Oh Tim, how thoughtful of you!" exclaimed Aimee, genuinely moved by the gift. Trust this admirable man to be a romantic soul!

"I'm glad you like it," said McGee, remembering founding the desert rose by chance, nestled between two rocks during one of The Watcher's test runs in the desert. He had shown his discovery to Roberts and the Corporal had mentioned collecting those crystals for his twin daughters at home. Tim had then pocketed the desert rose with the hopes that one day, he would have an occasion to offer it to Captain Wilkins and his prayers had been answered.

Aimee pulled Tim in for a hug and held him tightly, clutching the desert rose in one hand and sighing in contentment. He kissed her ear, cheek, jawbone, the corner of her eyes, making Aimee chuckle lightly; then he kissed her fully on the lips, amazed by their softness. She kissed him back lovingly, stroking his short hair and pressing his mouth against hers' as if she wanted to drink him alive. When they separated, Aimee caressed Tim's cheek in a tender gesture:

"I wanted to do this since the very first time I saw you."

"Y-You wanted to kiss me at the mess hall?" asked Tim, astonished by this revelation.

"Oh God, yes – in fact, if I had been given half a chance, I'd have grabbed you in front of everyone and possessed your lips until you'd beg for mercy!"

Tim could not contain his laughter at the image: "It would have made quite a mess at the mess hall!"

Aimee hugged him again and he gently cradled her against his chest. She felt so good, so warm, so alive! Holding Aimee could not be compared with Abby and her suffocating hugs, or the other women who had slept with him because he was a famous author… Or even with Ziva, who had embraced him out of camaraderie. No, Aimee Wilkins loved unconditionally, she wanted him and that simple fact was mind-blowing. McGee had been relegated to the shadows since his teenage years, and every attempt to get out of it had ended in disaster; he had been convinced that his naive and trustful nature doomed him to attract psychos or crybabies (an opinion largely shared by Very Special Agent Tony DiNozzo).

And yet, there he was, hiding in a secret room and holding a woman who reciprocated to his feelings – it felt like all his past experiences with women had vanished spontaneously, like a patch of muddy water under the desert sun.

"Aimee, I love you."

Her eyes shining like blue stars, she murmured _"I love you, Tim"_ before kissing him again. He caressed the young woman's back under the T-shirt she wore, amazed by the firmness of her body. Tongues dueled against one another; hands became bolder with each passing second. Tim and Aimee sighed when the last remnants of shyness were charred under the intensity of their blazing kisses. Nothing mattered, not ISAF, Tim's mission, the war, the risk of being discovered and ridiculed; in fact, a shower of meteors could bombard the base at this very moment and the couple would not have noticed.

Aimee put the desert rose on the chair, safe from harm, and then she pulled Tim's T-shirt out of his pants, making him shiver from head to toes. Remembering the Dark Dove, and not wanting to scare the Captain of his heart, Tim deftly unstrapped the weapon and let the sheathed blade fall on the floor; Aimee noticed his movement but never stopped appreciating the male forms under her hands. Seizing the young man by the hips – those narrow, fascinating hips – she gently pushed him backward until the back of his knees touched the bed, and made him sit on it. In a swift movement, she took the T-shirt off him, making his dog tags clink lightly on his tanned skin.

He was muscular without exaggeration, but Aimee had never cared much for the Schwarzenegger-type of men. She made him lie on the bunk and kissed him with an unexpected fierceness; the young man moaned, totally at her mercy but, much to his astonishment, he did not fear anything: he was hers! Lost in a whirlwind of sensations, Tim let Aimee disrobe him; the Captain was in charge and the Lieutenant yielded – willingly. She untied his boots and tossed the footwear across the room, careless of where it would land; without letting him pause for breath, she unfastened his trousers and took them off his long legs. Tim sighed deeply as the young woman caressed him through the fabric of his undergarment.

"Oh, my Captain…"

His last piece of clothing was slowly removed, revealing Tim under the soft glow of the lamp. Aimee's breath caught in her throat as she looked at him, lying nude against the dark blanket: _he was statuesque!_ Awestruck, she gaped at him; he wore his body like a tailor-made suit, a display of male beauty. His physique simply begged to be loved but Tim, unused to admiration, mistook her reaction for disappointment; with tears shining in his eyes, he started to cover himself and Aimee stopped his hand.

"Don't you ever hide your beauty from me, Tim McGee."

"B-beauty?"

"My God, Tim, has no one ever told you that you are beautiful? Gorgeous? Have you never realized you were _perfection_? I can hardly believe you kept this handsomeness just for me."

"Oh, Aimee!"

A passionate kiss followed this declaration, and then Aimee smiled at him before standing up next to the bed. Tim reached out for her, panicky at the thought she would suddenly leave, but she merely undid her pants, letting them fell on the floor. The young man gazed hungrily at her bare legs, her thighs, the infuriating T-shirt covering her from the neck to the waist. In a swift movement, like she was daring the whole world to try and stop her, Aimee raised her arms and pulled the garment off over her head, revealing her naked torso.

Tim thought he would go crazy; his green eyes were almost completely dark; he had dreamed of Aimee skinning out of her uniform many times, in the solitude of his private quarters, but he had not imagined she would be so lovely! Slim and strong like a soldier, she was also beauteous. Pleased by his responsiveness, Aimee pulled at her lingerie and let it slide sensuously along her legs.

"_A goddess!_" thought Tim at the sight of her harmonious silhouette. Finally freed of clothing, her dog tags shining against her bosom, Aimee walked towards the bed and captured Tim's lips in a torrid kiss.

A sense of power and courage filled the young man as he gathered her in his arms. His hands roamed all over Aimee's body, turning her spine into liquid. Tim placed her on the narrow bed and lay down beside her, marveling at the sight of her. He peppered kisses from the sculpted column of her neck to the narrow valley of her bust. Her charms bloomed under his hands and Aimee gasped in pleasure; fire coursed in her veins like lava running through the inner pipes of a volcano. To think some silly women had refused this treasure of a man in the past! Well, Aimee would gladly send them a thank-you card!

His lips alighted on her belly, flat and hard like a plate of steel, and then followed the soft line of short blond hair running from her navel to… _Oh_. Aimee grabbed fistful of bed sheets as her femininity was explored thoroughly, but with such tenderness it could have made her burst into tears.

"Oh, beloved! Beloved!"

Sweet caresses answered her cries of joy; this was far more… _intense_ than she had expected and her whole body trembled as Tim continued his adoration. The room's unique light seemed to shine brighter and Aimee bit at her lower lip to avoid a loud scream to ring out throughout the hospital's basement, alerting the MPs.

"Tim… Oh, Tim…"

The young man caressed the soft skin of her inner thighs and then he playfully tickled the back of her knees, making her giggle like a little girl. Tim lay down by her side again and Aimee kissed him on the lips as her hands journeyed on his chest, his firm backside, his abdomen...

"Ah, Aimee…"

Soon, he was writhing against the sheets, surrendering to her insistent caresses, wanting to be entirely consumed by her. Aimee kissed every inch of his physique before favoring his most sensitive parts thoroughly, lovingly, and it felt like he had plunged into a sea of delicious madness! Tim let her feast on his body like in a banquet, receiving as much as he had given her; a long moment passed before he could move again.

Then, Tim saw Aimee reaching out and picking off something that had been placed on the nearby chair, before placing it on the palm of his hand: it was a small, square foil wrapper…

"Just what the doctor ordered?" asked Tim with a teasing smile.

"Oh, yes," answered Aimee. Tim was grateful for her thoughtfulness: the idea of meeting a woman during his mission had never crossed his mind, thus he had not packed intimate protections before leaving DC – and asking where he could buy some would have raised embarrassing questions. Once he was ready he grabbed Aimee's hand and gently pressed his lips on the dorsal, gentleman-like, making her smile at the respectful gesture.

Drunk with desire, they shared a devouring kiss; Tim rolled Aimee onto her back. Their bodies were shining with love sweat. Their eyes were dark. Their whole beings were on fire.

The ultimate moment had come.

"Aimee."

"Tim."

They became one.

The world seemed to stand still for an instant, as if saluting the perfect osmosis achieved by the couple. And then, passion made Tim and Aimee move in a synchronous motion, graceful movements enhancing the beauty of their embrace. A maelstrom of fire erupted within their loins, fueled by every beat of their racing hearts. Sensual pleasure made them moan in unison; hands locked together; sighs and cries of bliss escaped from their lips. The act of love was magical, exquisite, a thunderbolt of pure energy that was devouring them alive.

Tim and Aimee were more than humans, less than gods. Their nude, glowing bodies shone against the darkened walls of the small room. The tiny bed became a raft on which they rode the tidal waves of felicity; the fire beneath their skins turned into an inferno howling for release; spines arched; joy flown in empyrean pulsations. The fusion deepened, sending marvelous sensations at the very core of their beings, decupling their life-forces, freeing them from the world.

Passion released its full power and the undulations of the entwined bodies increased in pace, violent like the ebb and flow of an equinox tempest; exaltation reached its paroxysm; the man and the woman shouted with one voice while the wild horses of pleasure neighed in triumph. Ecstasy carried them away to the sky, the stars, to the seventh heaven in a whirl of blinding lights. Tim and Aimee reached the zenith together, the universe shattering in a million pieces under the puissance of their love.

A blinding supernova exploded in a blaze of glory and they let out one last cry before falling headfirst back to Earth, still interlocked in an embrace as strong as iron. They found themselves again on the narrow bed, exhausted, breathless, and unable to move or speak. They exchanged a brief kiss as voluptuousness relaxed their bodies; protection was discarded and Tim barely had the time to drape the blanket around them before falling asleep in each other's arms, utterly spent, happy beyond words.

TBC…


	40. An execration and an intrusion

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- Some foul language in this chapter… I do apologize, but it was necessary.

- "Aimee" is a French first name which means "loved" for a woman.

- The Seventh Wonders of the Ancient World were: the Great Pyramid of Giza, the hanging gardens of Babylon, the Temple of Artemis at Ephesus, the statue of Zeus at Olympia, the Mausoleum at Halicarnassus, the Colossus of Rhodes and the Lighthouse of Alexandria. Only the Great Pyramid of Giza is still present in our modern world (from Wikipedia).

- Details about gangrene come from Wikipedia.

- To Earthdragon: I'm glad you liked the description of Tim's physique!

- To None: sorry, my lips are sealed ;-)

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><p><strong>Chapter 40: An execration and an intrusion<strong>

Tim opened his eyes, and a word spontaneously came to his mind.

_Bliss._

Absolute, pure bliss.

His left side was warmed by Aimee while the right was exposed to the coolness of the dim-lighted room since the blanket had slipped from the narrow bunk during their slumber. Aimee was curled up against him, her head resting on his shoulder, her hand covering his left breast like she wanted to protect his heart. Tim tightened his hold on the marvelous woman and carded his fingers through her blonde hair; she let out a murmur of contentment in her sleep, and he smiled.

He had never felt anything like this before, not ever! The intimacy they had shared had been incredible and they had reached apotheosis together, something he had never experienced with other women. Contrary to Tony's slander, Tim knew the ladies but he had never felt the need to boast about it in the bullpen. Penny had told him during his adolescence that a gentleman was discreet and courteous, and Tim had taken his grandmother's words at heart. Not that his previous girlfriends had appreciated his manners, though: they had been too busy crushing his broken heart under their high heels. As for Abby, their relationship had been spoiled by her diva-like attitude, including in bed as she would make the biggest fuss over the littlest things. Once, he had tried to snuggle up to her and he had been kicked out of the coffin-bed on the spot, with her screaming she was not a Teddy Bear and he should stop acting like a baby.

With hindsight, Tim wondered whatever had possessed him to date Abby: she was nothing but a sniveling brat with delusions of Goth grandeur and the only thing he regretted was the time wasted with her. But Aimee… God, she was perfect. Intelligent without pretentiousness, tough but caring at the same time, beautiful, kind… and she certainly did not fake her sentiments!

Wonderful shivers crawled up his spine at the recollection of the delicious moments they had. Their embrace had been ardent, fueled by love and sincerity, unveiling their bodies and their hearts with the utmost trust in one another. It was the kind of legendary passion that gave people wings and they had flown as one, higher and higher until reaching the Celestial Empire, magnificent like a triumphant phoenix….

"Tim," murmured Aimee against his shoulder.

"Yes, beautiful?"

She pressed her lips on the tanned skin of his strong chest.

"Gentle heart, my Tim…."

He gently took her hand and their fingers locked together like iron. They exchanged a smile, whispered endearments before kissing again, slow and deep; Tim caressed the firm curves of Aimee's body, making her shudder from head to toes. She stroked his brownish-blonde hair as his lips explored the sculptural beauty of her bosom, making her moan in contentment. She ran her hands along his hips, his belly, lower...

_Beepbeepbeep! Beepbeepbeep! Beepbeepbeep!_

An electronic noise startled the couple on the bed, making them fall hard from cloud nine, and then Aimee stifled a laugh:

"Oh, Tim, that's my watch."

He turned about and, indeed, a digital watch had been placed on the chair used as a bedside table, next to the packed protections. The small screen was illuminated and the numbers marking the time, seconds and date were blinking madly, as if to remind the lovers of the urgency of their situation. For a second, Tim had thought it had been The Watcher detecting something in the vicinity of their hideout!

"Do you have to go to work, Well-Named?"

"No, I've settled the alarm to go off at midnight. I'm so sorry, beloved, but we must go back to our private quarters. We cannot be caught being together by the MPs or it would spell no end of trouble for us. I happen to know the MPs patrol in this basement between midnight and one o'clock in the morning… and they have the key of every door! They woke me up more than once after I took up to sleep in The Undertaker's former room – of course, they'd retreat with excuses once they realize I was alone, but there no closet here to hide you and I'd be damned before compromising you out of carelessness."

Tim hugged her close; he did not want to leave but he knew Aimee was right, they had to be extra careful as they were evolving in a place where privacy was a myth, and transgressions of the Non-Fraternization rules could be severe. McGee did not give a damn about consequences for him: he was answerable only to Stephenson and he was ready to receive the brunt of the General's disappointment right in the face, if needed. But Aimee was a different matter; she had made her career in the armed forces and a major _faux-pas_, like being caught in bed with a Lieutenant, could spell a demotion and a transfer in a base located in the middle of nowhere. Even if Tim would immediately rush to her rescue and take all the blame, Aimee would be inevitably humiliated in front of everyone, her reputation torn to shreds… No, he simply could not do this to her!

With a resigned sigh, they broke their embrace and Aimee climbed out of the bunk first. She put on her clothes efficiently – too fast for Tim's tastes – carefully pocketed the desert rose and tightened the strap of her watch around her left wrist. The young man got out of bed as well and reached out for his discarded uniform, but she stayed his hand with an enigmatic smile on her face.

"What is it, my beautiful?"

An index finger on his lips stopped any attempt of questions, and then she recorded the image of his nude body in her mind before dressing him carefully, lovingly, piece after piece, as if he were a prince of royal blood. Being clothed by Aimee was as erotic as being disrobed by her and Tim sighed in pleasure; the contact of her hands on his skin was dazzling and it took every amount of self-control he possessed to not succumb to the tempting idea to seize her, fall back on the bunk and love until they would both pass out, MPs be damned!

But Aimee finished the sweet torture of dressing him with a quick kiss on the lips before grabbing his hand and leading him out of their love nest. She locked the metallic door behind them and they walked down the corridor holding hands, pushed open the green door and climbed up the staircase; once they reached its landing, they exchanged a toe-curling kiss, pouring in one another their love, their feelings, the incredible sensuality they had lived in each other's arms. When the need for breathing became impossible to ignore, their lips parted regretfully and they shared a fierce hug, overwhelmed by the ferociousness of their passion. It felt as if they had both gone mad and not caring a thing about it.

"Aimee, I love you, my Well-Named!" exclaimed Tim, his voice breaking from emotion.

"Tim, my heart… I love you, too," said Aimee, looking at the handsome young man with adoring eyes.

A squeaking sound was heard deep down in the basement, and the two lovers broke their embrace, instantly alarmed.

"What was that?" asked Tim, his heart racing inside his chest.

"I don't know; I've never heard this noise before…"

"The MPs?"

"Could be, or something else. Maybe we could take a look around?"

"No! Definitively not," said Tim firmly. "It's probably nothing, a door needing a bit of oil on its hinges. We cannot linger here or you'll be caught, my lovely, and I want to prevent this at all costs. I'll walk you to your private quarters."

Aimee caressed his cheekbones, and then they kissed intensively before heading for the upper floor's corridor. After they were gone, the squeaking sound was heard again and a shape moved slightly amongst the basement's shadows: it was a man, watching with malevolent eyes at the staircase's landing, at the exact place where the couple had been standing on just a minute ago.

The shadow moved again, and a light coming from a lone bulb illuminated the man's face.

It was Sergeant Kenneth Miller.

The man bore such an expression it could have scared the living daylights of a gargoyle. He took a few steps towards the staircase, limping heavily, and then he leaned against a wall with a painful grunt. His thigh was on fire and his situation was becoming unbearable, but the pain in his leg was nothing compared to the hate devouring his soul. A word was chanting madly inside his brains like a broken vinyl record: _the bitch, the bitch, the bitch…_

Miller had went down to the hospital's basement in a desperate search for medical supplies; he had ran out of Doctor al-Hassan's opium pills and he had hoped against all odds to find some outdated painkillers abandoned in a crate somewhere, but luck had not smiled upon him. Moving slowly to spare his leg, he had reached the basement with the slowness of a turtle while worrying all this time about bumping into annoying MPs, and yet all he had found had been spiders, empty boxes and a lot of dust. Furious, Miller had decided to go upstairs and rummage in the pharmacy for some opium tincture, even if it meant bashing a snot-nosed interfering pharmacist over on the skull, and then…

_Movements._

_Voices._

_A metallic door opening and closing, the sound of a lock clicking into place._

_MPs patrolling in the area!_

Scared out of his mind, Miller had retreated in the corridor's shadows but his back had bumped into a door left ajar, which had squeaked on its hinges. Cursing himself for his clumsiness, he had been certain the noise would give him away and spell the end of his military career. But the scene unfolding in front of him had nearly knocked him over: instead of MPs, it had been a man and a woman and they were kissing on the staircase's landing.

_McGee and Wilkins!_

_McGee and Wilkins snogging!_

_Wilkins looking at McGee like he was the Eighth Wonder of the world._

_The bitch! The bitch! The bitch!_

_McGee whispering sickeningly-sweet words to Wilkins._

_The bitch! The bitch! The bitch!_

_McGee and Wilkins leaving the premises, worried about being discovered._

_Bastards!_

_A couple of bastards!_

Miller groaned in outrage and if it had not been for his leg, he would have jumped at the couple and tore them from limb to limb. McGee was not only fooling around with Sugar Daddy Stephenson in his office, he was also getting his jollies with that uppity doctor! And she had been obviously satisfied by the experience of being shagged by the faggot, considering that nauseating lovey-dovey expression on her face when she had kissed him at the top of the stairs…

_How dare she? Doing the hanky-panky with a fag! That was a blatant insult to Miller's virility!_

Well, maybe McGee swung both ways; after all, prostitutes were supposed to entertain any kind of clientele, abasing themselves for a few coins tossed on the floor. But to think Wilkins had rejected _**him**_, Kenneth Miller, a straight-as-an-arrow man just to fall in the arms of a gigolo… That was something the Sergeant would never forgive!

_The bitches were doing the beast with two backs, eh? Well, they would pay together!_

Miller growled through gritted teeth; oh yes, the fag and the tart would suffer dearly at his hands and they would have a slow, excruciating death! He would use on them the worst torture devices ever invented by mankind, he would rape them by every mean possible, he would dismember them alive and feed their remains to carrion eaters, he…

A shot of pain torn Miller's dreams apart; how could he avenge his pride on McGee and Wilkins when lame and in dire need of medical help? Even a weakling newbie could push him over! And his so-called friends were pretty useless – in fact, they were so dumb and so cowardly they could only become a hindrance in his great scheme, selling Miller off for the slightest chance of a plea bargain. The Sergeant hated to admit it but he was alone, injured and his vengeance would have to wait: his sweating brow was not only due to the enormous efforts he had done while going down the basement with only one good leg. With the dull ache he was feeling, a sensation of coldness in the affected area, the pallor of the flesh on his thigh, Miller knew his wound was getting gangrenous. The idea of amputation scared him witless and he had to see Dr. al-Hassan immediately, even if it meant going AWOL!

The Sergeant remembered the sand storm that had been raging over ISAF during the night; it had probably quieted by now, but he knew by experience that the wind would keep on blowing for hours, a natural ally for erasing his footprints. With a little luck he could kick the ex-Commie out of his bed, order him to treat his leg, go back to the base and no one would be the wiser.

And, while he would get help, Miller would think long and hard about the best way to get his revenge on McGee and Wilkins. Sooner or later, the fag and the tart would get their rightful punishment!

* * *

><p><em>Meanwhile, in DC...<em>

Gibbs was walking towards Tim's building, his footsteps growing heavier by the second. He wanted to visit his agent's apartment just to _"take a look around, and make sure nothing is amiss" _but even with a good pick-locking kit in his pocket, his gut was telling him it was not going to be easy.

Mrs. Bergman, the next-door neighbor with a no-nonsense attitude he had met beforehand, would probably call the police if she ever caught Gibbs on the act of trying to force open Tim's door and the results would not bore well with a certain irascible NCIS Director. Gibbs would have a hard time explaining his presence in his agent's apartment with burglar's tools in hand… Of course, had he been a better boss, he would have asked Tim a spare key in case of emergency but the thought had not crossed the silver-haired man's mind before it had been way too late. Thus, his only option was to discreetly pick at locks and, in case he would be spotted by Mrs. Bergman, Gibbs would have to make an extra effort and be polite - something he was completely unaccustomed to – in order to reassure the old lady. This very idea would have been laughable in other circumstances, but since Tim had left...

The silver-haired man sighed in exasperation; things had truly gone downhill after that fateful day when his son had announced his departure. It had snowballed in Abby's prolonged suspension, Tony's downgrading, the Team Leader on probation... Only Ziva had managed to escape the storm unscathed but, considering her temper and steadfast support for Tim, her luck would not hold forever. And then, what would happen to Team Gibbs? Would they be sacked? Separated? Would they be mentioned in textbooks as examples of how federal agents should **never **behave?

Gibbs shook his head in an effort to clear his mind from those dark thoughts; he had to focus on watching over Tim in spite of Vance's interdiction, and he did not regret his phone call to Butler. As shadowy as the man was, the prospect of extra cash for information could only appeal to his mercenary soul and Butler knew better than to double-cross Gibbs. A spy prowling around a target was more efficient than a besieging army and thus, the Team Leader was certain he had done the right thing to protect Tim. But it was also his responsibility to watch over his son's belongings during his absence: it would not be fair to the kid to come home after such an ordeal and found out his apartment had been ruined by a leaking pipe, for example.

So Gibbs had appointed himself Guardian of Tim's Home and he was determined in executing this mission, since Admiral and Mrs. McGee would never volunteer for this kind of job and Penny had left DC for another round of conferences. As for Sarah, she had not answered any of his voice messages…

He entered the building just as a man exited it through the glass doors of the main entrance, and wasted no time in pressing on the elevator's buttons. The cabin's panels opened laterally, letting him inside the cabin and within minutes, he had arrived at the requested floor. He walked down the corridor in long strides when he spotted the silhouette of a young woman standing next to Tim's door, looking a bit unsure. Gibbs had no trouble identifying the dark-haired girl with a heavy-looking backpack slung over her left shoulder; it was…

"Sarah?"

The young woman jumped in surprise, turning her face towards Gibbs. Indeed, it was Sarah McGee, Tim's sister. She was clutching a key in her hand and the Team Leader realized she also had the idea to come at her brother's apartment.

"Agent Gibbs? What are you doing here?"

The silver-haired man was a bit taken aback from the young woman's sharp tone; Sarah seemed surprised, for sure, but also very angry by his presence. Doubtless she had been upset learning about Tim's mission from her less-than-capable parents, who probably have told her with tears and roars of indignation about the mistreatments they had suffered at NCIS from a knife-wielding woman and a stone-faced Director and how this whole business had been their son's fault, as usual. Poor Sarah had to endure this flood of nonsense without daring to contradict her parents and it had probably delayed her from coming to Tim's place before: she had to wait until her parents' outrage had calmed down and it had taken a lot of time.

"I wanted to take a look at Tim's apartment, to make sure everything's all right; but it seems you and I had the same idea."

"Yes, but how did you plan to come inside? You don't have a key, so I suppose you'd have torn down the door. I wouldn't put that past you, considering the little respect you have shown Tim over the years!"

Gibbs frowned at those words; Sarah may be upset by her brother's absence but he did not appreciate being reminded of him disrespecting McGee, even if it had happened in the past – much to his shame.

"I… have my private methods to come inside places, Sarah."

"Yes, well, I doubt they are legal! Tim told me about your lock-picking skills and how you taught that imbecile DiNozzo that fine art, which he used repetitively to break inside my brother's apartment. Then again, DiNozzo is your adopted son so he can do anything, can't he? Including ridiculing my brother in his own home!"

Gibbs' frown deepened at those words. Tony had acted like an idiot towards Tim, for certain, but he had helped the McGee siblings after Sarah had been accused of murdering her Marine boyfriend. Maybe the girl needed a friendly reminder of the help she had received from NCIS in the past…

"Sarah…"

"Sssh!"

The young woman suddenly raised her hand in a shushing gesture and the Team Leader made a dangerous move towards his gun; Sarah was listening intensively, her head cocked on one side, a look of intense concentration on her face that strongly enhanced her resemblance to Tim.

"What's the matter?" whispered Gibbs.

"I heard something earlier… Inside Tim's apartment, it sounded like a thud… I thought I've made a mistake, but it has just happened again… My God, could it be a burglar?"

Gibbs never hesitated; he got his weapon from out of his jacket and motioned to Sarah to flatten herself against the wall, right behind him. If an intruder had thought he could pillage his youngest son's apartment without running a risk, then he had another thing coming! Ignoring Sarah's key, Gibbs readied his gun and kicked the door wide open: the violence ripped away the lock from the frame, making it fly across the room.

"Federal agent! Hands in the air!"

"No, don't shoot! Don't shoot!" screamed a male's voice in return.

Gibbs' eyes widened as he realized he was pointing his gun at a teenage boy with messy brown hair and wrinkled clothes, but he did not lower his aim; whoever this kid was, his presence in Tim's place raised questions and he would get his answers, one way or the other. Grabbing the boy, he slammed him against a wall and, in spite of loud protests, searched him for weapons.

"Ow! Oh! You're hurting me! Get your hands off me, you pervert!" cried the kid, his nose pressed hard against the wallpaper.

"Shut up!" One quick but thorough examination confirmed the suspect was not carrying anything; Gibbs grabbed him roughly by the shoulder and turned him about before seizing a fistful of T-shirt bearing the name of an obscure rock band.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" growled Gibbs, his blue eyes shining in fury at the thought of someone had dared to enter his son's habitat in his absence. But then, the kid did something really stupid: instead of answering, he snickered loudly:

"Get lost, Gramps! You don't scare me with that gun; I know it's just for show!"

A harsh head-slap showed the teenager his mistake.

"OW! OH! You old bastard! I'll file up a complaint! I'll sue!"

"You'd better answer me at once if you know what's good for you, boy! What are you doing here?" roared Gibbs, getting increasingly annoyed by the second from the kid's attitude.

"None of your business! Go back to the retirement home and eat biscuits, Gramps!"

"Gibbs?" asked Sarah, looking at the scene from the damaged front door.

"Sarah, call the police. Tell them we have surprised an apprentice-burglar in Tim's apartment and we're turning him over to the local authorities. Hurry!"

The young woman looked at the teenager's face, and then she gasped as recognition dawned on her.

"Gibbs, he's… That's Nick, the son of Tim's landlady."

TBC…


	41. A lesson

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- I've realized too late that Nick and Sergeant Miller share the same surname but no, the thieving kid and the murderous Sergeant are _**not**_ related! ;-)

- Here again, some foul language in this chapter… Sarah's pretty angry in this chapter so please wear a helmet before reading.

- Details about Waltham watches and MIT class rings come from Wikipedia.

- The quote from Confucius is from _The Analects_, book 4, chapter 25.

- To Earthdragon: I think you're going to appreciate this chapter! xD

- To Nicole: I really don't know how many more chapters this story will have… the muse keeps on giving me new ideas!

- To MoonGCyn: there will be another love scene soon, and then… lots of drama. Keep on reading!

- To Sandra: thank you for your kind words!

- To Guest: Sergeant Miller is the big bad wolf of my story, meaning we'll have to endure him for a long time ;o)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 41: A lesson<strong>

Gibbs blinked in disbelief at Sarah's words. Nick, the boy of Mrs. Miller, Tim's landlady? The same one who had broken into his youngest son's apartment and had hacked into his computer, charging almost $10,000 worth of things on Tim's credit cards simply because he considered McGee _"__too boring, and did not take time to enjoy life"_?

Gibbs certainly remembered this case, and most particularly the fact that Tony had taken a shine on the thieving kid. He had loudly praised Nick for his audacity and had forced Tim to buy video games for him and the boy, as 'punishment' for having foolishly written down his passwords, account numbers and pin numbersin a notebook and leaving it inside a drawer, in the safety of his own home. According to Tony, 'real men' never wrote anything down and being robbed by a twelve-year-old would teach Tim a lesson – regardless of the fact his colleague had not handed Nick the keys to his apartmen in the first place, but respecting someone had never been Tony's _forte_, especially when it came to Tim.

The silver-haired man took another look at the suspect and, indeed, he recognized Nick. The boy was about sixteen years old and he had grown tall and lanky; his chin was showing some hair stubbles but a few untreated pimples were disgracing his face, dandruffs were scattering his shoulders like the Milky Way and, judging from the smell coming from his armpits, Nick did not use showers often. He was the archetype of the teenager who deliberately damaged his appearance to show his hate towards the whole world, without realizing he was only making a total fool out of himself.

"Let go! Let go of me, you crazy old fool! LET GO!" screamed Nick, wriggling and squirming like a worm under Gibbs' grasp. But the former Marine was not the kind to let any kind of matter drop, and his fist tightened on Nick's T-shirt to the point of tearing it off his torso.

"**ENOUGH! You're under arrest for breaking and entering my son's apartment!"**

"What?" whispered a stunned Sarah.

"I didn't break anything! I'm the landlady's son, and my mother told me to check into the loser's apartment and see if nothing was amiss. She gave me the spare key to the front door, you moron! And I'm gonna sue your ass for brutality; you're gonna wish you've never laid a hand on me, Gramps!"

"I said, ENOUGH! This is your last warning, kid: mind the lip, or else!"

"I'll do whatever I want! It's a free country, Gramps, in case you've forgotten. And I'm not scared of you!"

"Which proves your stupidity, kid: breaking into a federal agent's apartment was already stupid, but insulting me is a moronic move if I've ever seen one! Now, put your hands behind your back and can the attitude, do you hear me?"

But Nick had decidedly an arrogant bone in his body; instead of obeying, he laughed right in Gibbs' face.

"Get lost, Gramps. You ain't got any authority in here and you sure as heck aren't McGee's father; I recognize you: you're his boss, the Marine who thinks he's Rambo or something but you're just a deadbeat Navy cop, like McGee! You're in charge of a team of jackasses thinking too highly of themselves, with the Goth chick and the Israeli whore, and ya think I'll take orders from you, Old Timer? Fat chance! I remember you from when I was dragged to that dump you call a fed agency: you were tearing McGee a new one about the case of a Marine being beaten to death – another loser – while I was having a blast with that imbecile DiNozzo. A complete fool, that one! He adopted me on the spot, talk about being full of s**t! That idiot never realized I'd have stolen his credit cards as well, but he was moving too fast – just like his stupid tongue!"

Gibbs could hardly believe his own ears: not only Nick gloated about having stolen from Tim, but he admitted he would have picked Tony's pockets given half a chance.

"So you'd better unhand me before I file a complaint against you for assault and battery, Gramps. You're nothing but a bastard; no wonder you're McGee's boss! That moron will be absent for months and my cow of a mother told me to check his apartment to make sure he didn't forget to turn off a faucet or something because she's worried about floods. Can't see what's the bloody fuss is all about but she's getting senile in her old age – just like you, Gramps… **OW!**"

Nick yelped in pain for the third time after Gibbs, livid with rage, delivered a hash slap on the back of his head, before twisting his arms behind his back and handcuffing him. The Team Leader patted the kid's riveted jeans pockets in the hopes of finding an ID, but nothing came out except for a stick of gum.

"Pervert! Bastard! I'll tell everyone you groped me!"

"WILL YOU SHUT UP?" roared the silver-haired man, forcing Nick to sit on a nearby chair. "I'm getting sick and tired of your insolence, kid! Either you shut your mouth or I'll shut it for you."

"Gibbs? The police are on their way," said Sarah while pocketing her cell phone. Then, she spotted on the living room's floor a black duffle bag bearing the name of a sports brand.

"That's Tim's gym bag! What's it doing here? He wouldn't have left it lying around; he's always so tidy…."

Sarah picked up the bag but a strange noise, like two objects hitting one another inside the luggage, stopped her; intrigued, the young woman dropped the bag back on the floor and, kneeling next to it, she yanked open the zipper and let out a cry at the sight of the contents:

"Oh, my God! That's Tim's laptop stashed in here… And that's his digital camera, an external removable HDD, desktop scanner, scientific calculator, iPad… his collection of video games… a digital photo frame… his Playstation… his Blue-Ray DVD player and… oh no, here's his MIT class ring and our great-grandfather's pocket-watch!" said Sarah as she took out a heavy-looking Brass Rat gold ring and a Waltham Model 1857 silver watch from the gym bag.

"Shut up, bitch!" yelled Nick.

"Are you sure these electronic gizmos belong to Tim?" asked the Team Leader.

"I happen to know my brother's apartment very well, Agent Gibbs! I've been there many times and he showed me every item he bought. And, unbeknownst to our friend here, Tim had all his personal properties recorded…"

Sarah took the laptop out from the duffel bag and presented the back of the device, showing a bunch of letters and numbers engraved in the plastic casing, just above the battery box.

"Recorded and registered at the police station of his neighborhood, in case of another burglary. You see, after his first experience with this disgusting apprentice-thief – followed by a complete lack of support from his fellow NCIS agents – my brother took the initiative to protect his belongings and all the other residents did the same, under Tim's suggestion; somehow, he knew a stay at Juvenile Hall wouldn't be enough to calm this worm's thieving tendencies."

"Bitch!" yelled the teenager again.

"Don't feel too bad, Nick. Even if Gibbs and I haven't caught you red-handed, you'd still have been arrested. Registered goods are easy to track down and, in the hypothesis you'd have found a fence stupid enough to buy stolen properties with an ID number, rest assured the said fence would have given your name to the cops in a snap, for a plea bargain. And you're too stupid to realize you've taken personalized jewelry, too: the MIT class ring has Tim's name engraved on its inner surface and the watch bears the names of my great-grandfather, grandfather, father and brother on the case back, as it is a family heirloom passed on from a generation to another. No doubts the cops will find your prints all over Tim's personal properties and, given your criminal record, you'll get thrown in the slammer in no time. You are truly an absolute idiot!"

"BITCH!"

"Oh, try to be a little more imaginative, will you? Calling a girl a bitch is such a cliché…"

The teenager had a nasty glance towards Sarah while Gibbs pondered her words; it was true he had not done a thing for Tim after his youngest son had realized his savings had been stolen. In fact, the Team Leader had merely grunted at the news: considering his long-time hate towards computers, he had simply thought this kind of things was bound to happen to people surfing on the Net all day – like Tim. Later, Tony had found out the thief's identity and Gibbs had put it on good teamwork until he had learnt his Senior Agent had used this incident to humiliate Tim for the whole bullpen to see. And yet, McGee had not answered to Tony's display of poor companionship by a punch on the nose – something Gibbs would have done. Instead, he had thought about the well-being of other people, namely the tenants who had also been Nick's victims: he had filed a police report, hired an attorney and, according to Mrs. Bergman, the judge had sentenced the kid fairly and accordingly.

The silver-haired man had been feeling quite ashamed of himself after the old lady had told him about Tim bringing their case to court, without any kind of help from his boss. God, how could he have been so blind? Tim had been devastated by Nick's betrayal and Tony's gloating, and yet Gibbs had not done a thing to rein them both in! No, Tim had dealt with his problems on his own, as usual. In fact, each and every time his youngest had encountered trouble (Mawher, Benedict, Amanda, Mexico to name a few), Gibbs had not bothered to give him at least some moral support. And his callousness had cost him a son: Vance had told Gibbs he had sent his letter of apology to Afghanistan via the diplomatic pouch but so far, Tim had not asked to talk to his boss via the MTAC link…

_How does it feel to be on the receiving end of indifference, Gibbs? How does it feel to know you have discouraged a good man to the point he had severed all ties with you? How does it feel when someone you love would rather face extreme danger for six months rather than stay in your presence for six minutes, and you're sole responsible for this situation?_

"Ya think you're so smart, do you, Missy? Ya think you're all so high and mighty that you can take the law in your hands and do as you please? Well, F*** YOU!" yelled Nick, his insolence doing a poor job in hiding the fear in his voice.

_**TWACK!**_

"AH! OW! Help! The old bastard's trying to kill me!"

"Are you all right, Agent Gibbs?" asked Sarah while the older man was rubbing the palm of his hand in the other, in a vain attempt to alleviate the pain.

"That kid has the hardest skull I've ever seen. Heck, he's even more hard-headed than DiNozzo!"

"I doubt that very much," answered the sarcastic young woman.

In spite of the shame caused by the head-slap, Nick was getting worried; his great plan of getting even with McGee-the-denunciator had backfired badly. For years he had dreamed of slipping back inside the loser's apartment, clean it out and then cash in the valuables as compensation money for his undeserved stay at Juvenile Hall – but it had not been easy, not with this great lump of fat posing as his mother watching his every moves. After Nick had gotten out of Juvie, she kept him on a very short leash, forbidding him to go anywhere but to school and making him work in the building as a janitor, to _"cure him from his thieving streak and disappointing his mother"_! That had been the ultimate insult for Nick, aggravated by the fact Dear Old Mom had sold his Playstation, personal computer, bicycle and digital watch to pay for the new locks the judge had sentenced her to fix on her tenants' doors. Nick had swept floors, washed windows, taken out the trash under the ironic eyes of his former victims, and every time the teenager had heard snickers behind his back, he had sworn he would have his revenge on McGee. But that goody two-shoes fed never left for a vacation, too dedicated to his job in protecting the innocent, upholding the law and all the rest of it!

And then, chance had finally smiled upon Nick: while cleaning the elevator, he had overheard a conversation between nosy Mrs. Bergman and silly Mrs. Van de Velde, and the Jew biddy had babbled about McGee being sent to Afghanistan for six months, in an important NCIS mission! Delirious with glee, Nick had stolen his mother's keys and went into the loser's apartment; he had stolen a duffle bag and raided McGee's study, living-room and bedroom, promising himself to come back later with a couple of buddies to remove the huge flat-screen TV, and then they would have ransacked the apartment just for the principle of it; maybe they would dig out the Porsche's keys from a drawer and go for a joyride! And the look on McGee-the-wimp's face on his return, finding his apartment stripped and vandalized, it would have been priceless! But that demented fed had burst in minutes before Nick would have left the premises, and then he had brutalized him within an inch of his life before calling the cops. Life was unfair!

The teenager glared at Sarah, and then an idea formed in his mind; the bitch may be as uppity as McGee, but she was a girl and Nick firmly believed all women were sensible to tears. He had used this trick countless times on his imbecilic mother and it had always worked to the perfection – until he had been sent to Juvie for trespassing, identity theft, credit card fraud and aggravated robbery. Taking a deep breath, Nick forced his lachrymal ducts to work and, in less than a few seconds, big tears rolled on his cheeks to fall on his dirty jeans' legs.

"P-Please, Miss, I-I didn't mean to… C'mon, now, it's not a-as if I hurt someone! I made a m-mistake, for sure, a stupid m-mistake but you can't send me back to j-j-jail! It's awful there, with all t-those rapists preying on the new k-kids… D'you know how they c-call us? _"Fresh meat"_, like at the butcher's, and that's what w-we are: just meat to be c-cut into! You c-can't throw me in this s-snake pit, it's too horrible! It's like H-Hell!"

Sarah rolled her eyes heavenwards; if she had not been so furious about an intruder breaking into her brother's apartment, she would have laughed out loud at this ridiculous display of crocodile tears!

"Shut up!" barked Gibbs.

"Miss, p-please! Don't listen to him, call off the cops! I can't go back to J-Juvie, it'll break my mother's heart! It's been hard after my f-father walked out on us, and she's been s-s-struggling ever since to keep our heads a-above water. I'm all she has left in the world! You have a mother too, Miss? Can you imagine her face if she ever l-learned you've been arrested? I promise you… I promise you I'll never set foot in the loser's… In this a-apartment again! I swear it, on my mother's life! Don't send me back to j-jail! At least, give me a chance to prove myself! I…."

But Nick's tirade was cut off by a loud round of applause by Sarah.

"_Bravo, bravissimo!_" exclaimed the young woman, enthusiastically clapping her hands. "This is the most awful performance I've ever seen. _Encore!_"

"What?"

"You definitively deserve a Razzie Award for Worst Actor; floods of tears after having being caught red-handed in stealing my brother's possession, very convincing! Not to forget the insults you've served Agent Gibbs and me. Frankly, you have more future as a burglar than on stage, Nick."

"B-But…"

"All in one: forget it. The cops will arrive any time now and I'll gladly file a complaint against you, with NCIS Agent Gibbs as my witness. But keep on crying, please; it'll be satisfying to see you escorted outside this apartment by the police, bawling like a baby. As for your poor mother, she won't be very pleased to learn you've been robbing her tenants again - no doubt Tim will call his attorney right after his return, and sue her for all her worth. It will certainly break your mother's heart knowing she has a double fool as a son but then again, she's probably quite aware of this fact."

Nick gritted his teeth in desperation; he had wasted his tears for nothing, the bitch was not going to relent and he would have to go to the police station with a face like a crying toddler. And it was useless to try and pass for a junior version of Gibbs; it had worked wonderfully with that muttonhead DiNozzo, since his vanity far exceeded his intelligence, but the white-haired bastard was obviously insensible to the teenager's cockiness and brashness. In fact, Gibbs' eyes were icy-cold like a serial killer's and Nick knew he was doomed for another stay in jail.

But Nick simply could not concede defeat without one last provocation; he rubbed his face against his jean-covered legs to dry his fake tears, sneered malevolently and shouted:

"YOUR LOSER OF A BROTHER'S IN AFGHANISTAN, EH, BITCH? WELL, I HOPE HE'LL GET KILLED THERE! I HOPE HE'LL BE BEHEADED! I HOPE WE'LL SEE THE VIDEO OF HIS DEATH ON THE NET!"

That was the last straw; Gibbs raised his hand to strike but Sarah beat him to it.

_**CLAC!**_

A resounding slap across the teenager's face stopped his hateful diatribe and the impact nearly caused the chair Nick was sitting on to topple over. Gibbs stared incredulously at the young woman who had just struck at the teenager: he had erroneously thought Sarah would be like Tim, too decent to be violent but she had a ferocious streak in her genes that was absent in her brother's.

Nick remained stunned for a few seconds, as if he would never have imagined a girl could hit him, and then he started to cry – for good this time. However, his tears stopped instantly after Sarah shouted:

"Shut up or you'll get another one!"

"What's going on here?" asked a severe voice from behind.

Gibbs and Sarah turned around and indeed, two police officers in uniform were standing at the front door, looking ready to draw out their weapons. The silver-haired man wasted no time in taking out his badge and holding it high for the cops to see.

"I am Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS. This young lady here is Sarah McGee, the sister of one of my subalterns, Special Agent Timothy McGee. My agent is out of the USA for the moment and I was checking up his apartment with Sarah, when we caught in the act a burglar stealing valuables. I arrested him, cuffed him and Sarah called 911. I am now handing over the criminal to you so you'll charge him for trespassing and robbery."

"Do you know this kid?" asked a cop, with a tag bearing the name 'Hayes' was pinned on his breast pocket.

"Yeah, he's Nick Miller, the son of the woman owning this building. Nick has already a criminal record as a burglar, as it is not the first time he has illegally entered the homes of his mother's tenants to help himself with their possessions. This duffel bag contains all the things he has stolen from my agent: electronics, computer stuff, games and jewelry. Miss McGee here wants to press charges against this thief, and I will gladly testify."

"Go to Hell, Gramps!" yelled Nick, his right cheek reddening from Sarah's slap.

"Do you confirm this, Miss?" asked Hayes.

"That's right, Officer. This kid took advantage of my brother's absence to burglarize his home, and Agent Gibbs stopped him."

The other cop – whose name was Allen – unhooked a microphone from his shoulder and called the station. In the meantime, Gibbs hauled Nick on his feet and took off the cuffs, but the teenager did not try to make a run for it as Hayes grabbed his arm and held him firmly. After a few minutes, Officer Allen got confirmation that Nicholas Miller, sixteen years old, had been previously involved with juvenile court on a burglary charge; his presence on a private property he had already stolen from spelled recidivism and Hayes slapped his own cuffs on Nick's wrists in spite of his loud claims of innocence. Allen checked Sarah's and Gibbs' IDs, and then he took the duffel bag as the valuables would have to be processed as evidence.

"You need to accompany us to give a statement, Agent Gibbs, and you too, Miss McGee."

"We'll follow you in my car. What's your precinct's address, Officer?"

"2469, Sherman Avenue North West and Euclid Street."

"Right, we'll be there in a few minutes. By the way, my agent has registered a list of his possessions to the police; it will be easy to confirm the electronics truly belong to federal agent Timothy McGee."

"Will do. See you at the precinct, Agent Gibbs."

Hayes and Allen grabbed Nick, read him his rights and got him out of the apartment; the teenager screamed abuse the whole time, promising Hell and a long hospitalization for Gibbs and Sarah, pleading he was an innocent victim of a NCIS conspiracy and the police officers ought to release him immediately. But his shouts alerted the neighbors and they got out of their homes to watch wide-eyed at their landlady's son bawling his eyes out and being taken away by two cops in uniform. Only Mrs. Bergman watched the scene with a knowing look on her face, absolutely not surprised by this turn of events. Nick had never expressed remorse for his past actions so it had been a matter of time before he would start his burglary game again, wrongly thinking it would make him look clever and cool.

After Nick and his escort had finally left the floor, Sarah turned her hard eyes towards Gibbs.

"Well, there goes another brilliant example of your teachings, Agent Gibbs."

"Excuse me? I've never taught that kid to break into Tim's home!" protested the Team Leader.

"No, but you certainly haven't taught Nick the difference between right and wrong when he was brought to NCIS. I know all about your favorite agent, Tony DiNozzo, and how he took Nick under his wing. DiNozzo has thought it hilarious that a twelve-year-old boy had managed to steal Tim's identity, his money and nearly destroyed his career – inadmissible, coming from a federal agent – but he also coerced Tim in buying video games as a 'reward' for the short-pants thief – which was really the last straw! Tell me, Agent Gibbs, how would have DiNozzo reacted if Nick had hacked into _**his**_ computer? Would he have thought it very funny to have all his money stolen? Would he have congratulated Nick after the FBI had launched an investigation for identity theft? Would he have bought games to that worm after his thievery had almost cost him his job? No to all that! But then again, Nick has 'only' robbed Tim so the whole matter could be swept under the carpet, right? Why would you bother giving Nick a lecture about the wrongness of his actions since they had affected 'only' the unimportant member of your team?"

"Sarah…"

"And while your magnificent DiNozzo was humiliating my brother in public, what did you do, Agent Gibbs? NOTHING! Absolutely nothing! You sat on your fanny and laughed alongside DiNozzo! After all, you approve of Tim being constantly riled by your protégé, don't you? It's all part of your teachings, the only way to toughen my brother up, to beat the softness of him, to make a real man of him. Newsflash for you, Gibbs the Almighty: **Tim was already a real man before he started working for you.** He didn't wait for you to barge into his life to grow into a courageous, intelligent and caring human being so he sure as Hell didn't need you rubbing his face in the dirt with your so-called superiority. You're the one who should learn from him, not the other way round but you're too prideful to admit it – and that's why you decided to make Tim's life a living Hell at work!"

"Sarah, that's not true! I care about Tim as if he were my own."

"Yeah, I heard you calling him your son earlier. Of all the rotten nerve! Calling him your son when I damn well know the only ones who benefit from your consideration are bonehead DiNozzo, the Goth crybaby and that woman from Israel. You move Heaven and Earth whenever those three are in trouble but when it comes to my brother, you never have time for him! Tim has to defend himself not only from criminals, but also from his co-workers since he's unworthy of your attention. He has made the choice of being intelligent and decent, which is the ultimate insult for your Marine training: according to you, only the odious survive. Well, let me tell you one thing, Agent Gibbs: you're giving a very poor image of the Marines with that badass attitude and you're too dumb to even realize it!"

"You're wrong! I do realize I've been unjust towards Tim. His departure has opened my eyes, as well as my team members."

"That's a big lie, Agent Gibbs. You see, my brother wrote me a letter before he left for Afghanistan and guess what? He compared you to our father and it's not a compliment. You share a lot of traits with the Admiral: obtuseness, callousness, lack of leadership qualities, oversized pride and, above everything, the blatant inability to respect other people. But your trademark rudeness has rubbed off on DiNozzo, the Goth and the lethal woman, which is the reason why you love them as your kids. Unfortunately, Tim can't be rude even if his life depended on it and that's why you hold him in the utmost contempt. You use his technological skills when you're out of your depths with computers – God knows, it happens often – but once the job is done, Tim has to shut up and endure DiNozzo's banter, all this with your distinguished approval."

"Sarah…"

"As for you and the others finally realizing your wrongs, don't make me laugh. My grandmother Penny paid a visit recently at your office and she told me about DiNozzo loudly disparaging Tim's family name – **our **respected family name – all around NCIS, even though my brother is risking life and limbs to protect our troops. What a wonderful display of professionalism! The solidarity between the members of your team is simply astonishing."

"I corrected Tony!"

"You wasted your head-slaps: DiNozzo will _**never**_ change his ways, because he needs to ridicule Tim like I need air to breathe. My brother has the ultimate gall to be smarter, better and braver than him and DiNozzo simply can't stand being bested, just like you!"

Sarah suddenly grabbed her backpack and headed for the door, acting as if she could not stand to stay another minute near her brother's boss.

"Wait! What are you doing? We have to go to the precinct and make a statement."

"This is exactly where I am heading to, Agent Gibbs. Unlike your adored DiNozzo, I'm not the kind to let a criminal get away with it simply he has robbed someone I don't like."

"I'll drive you…"

"Don't bother, I'll take a cab. Right now, your presence offends me so it's better for the both of us to go our separate ways. And I owe you nothing, Agent Gibbs: the only person I have a debt with is my brother, who risked his career to prove my innocence. Had you have done your job correctly years ago, you'd have given Nick the scare of his life and he wouldn't have dared trying to steal Tim's private properties for a second time. But you did nothing apart hurting my brother, so you'll have nothing from me in return. Penny thinks you may change but she's always been too optimistic and I doubt Confucius' philosophy will ever manage to penetrate that thick skull of yours. _"Virtue is not left to stand alone. He who practices it will have neighbors"_: you'll understand why Tim has a lot of supporting neighbors whereas you live like a hermit inside your house. Good-bye, Agent Gibbs."

TBC…


	42. An admission

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- Details about the Fraternization policies in the US military come from the website "US military about". I apologize for any inadequacies!

- George Herbert (1593–1633) was an English poet and orator; the quote is from his book _Jacula Prudentum_ published in 1651 (from Wikipedia).

- Sir Charles Spencer "Charlie" Chaplin (1889–1977) was a British comic actor and filmmaker (from Wikipedia).

- To Partingways: Nick has learned about Tim's mission in Afghanistan after having spied on Mrs. Bergman.

- To Guest: thank you very much for your kind words!

- To Steve: I'm glad you liked the way Sarah dealt the Nick the Prick!

- To None: Tony will indeed feel the wrath of Ziva.

- To markgibbs: Tim will indeed return a changed man, much to a lot of people's astonishment.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 42: An admission<strong>

_Two weeks later, at ISAF..._

General Alexander Stephenson had learned early in his military career to carefully school his features; expressions of joy, anger, disappointment, impatience or satisfaction were not to appear on his face as leaders had to remain calm and focused under any circumstances. This ability had helped him to rise in the ranks and earn the respect of his subalterns, who actually _liked _to obey him because he would never insult or belittle them – a bad attitude worthy of the hateful Drill Sergeant from his Boot Camp days, a man Stephenson had always found despicable. Having a dignified attitude was, by far, more impressive than hash words and the General had become an expert in keeping a neutral facade while at the same time praising good soldiers (with a few but chosen words) and making clear to troublemakers that they were unwelcome (likewise).

However, and even if he was currently in the privacy of his office, Stephenson was having a hard time to contain his enthusiasm: The Watcher project was a success, plain and simple!

McGee had done ten more patrols with Roberts and his designated escort since their first success in discovering a glass-casing landmine; ever since, The Watcher had detected a cache of stolen grenades hidden in a suburb of Kabul, three glass-casing landmines on the road to Kandahar, two suicide-bombers that were stopped before they could activate the explosives, a man smuggling weapons in his truck, two opium dealers armed to the teeth and a bomb placed just in front of an all-girls' school. McGee's program had gone beeping like crazy after it had detected the electronic timer, set at the exact moment when the young female students would come out of the building. Fortunately, Spikerman had been able to neutralize the bomb and bring it back intact at ISAF. The killers, too certain of their success, had forgotten to use gloves while assembling the device and their fingerprints had led to their arrest by Afghan police.

Rumors about terrorist attempts being foiled one after another were running through Kabul and a feeling of unease plagued the various warlords, who were suspecting one another of siding with the Americans and it suited the Allied forces perfectly; warlords busy getting at each other's throats were vulnerable and so, prone to capture. All this in less than ten days!

Stephenson raised his eyes and looked at the young man seated in front of him. Strangely, McGee did not seem to be relishing in his success: did a block accidentally fall inside his clever clogs? Or was it something else? For an outside eye, the kid looked reserved, but fine – as if he wanted to imitate the General's impassibility. Stephenson would have been flattered by the thought but he had noted McGee's emerald-colored eyes were dimmer than usual, as if a worry was clouding them and he was resolved to get the bottom of it... using tact, of course, since he had never cautioned brusqueness.

"This is excellent work, Lieutenant McGee," said Stephenson as a preamble while going through the glowing reports on his desk. "The Watcher is working to the perfection and each time it had 'spotted' something, we've been able to stop wrongdoers before they could commit their crimes. Handing them over to the Afghan police has improved our working relationships with local authorities and, if this continues, we'll be able to equip every vehicle of the Allied forces with a Watcher and increase by a hundred percent the protection of our troops and this goes far beyond our expectations. You can be proud of yourself!"

"Thank you, Sir."

"And yet, in spite of this head-spinning success, I can sense you are troubled, son. Will you tell me what is it?"

A few months ago, Tim would have squirmed on his seat, ill at ease at the thought of being scrutinized by a superior. Gibbs also had a knack to detect distress in one of his agents but especially with his youngest, whose honest nature had prevented him to hone dissimulation skills – Tony had called it a ridiculous idiocy and stated loudly 'McCan'tLie' would never be a good undercover agent, proving once again that he should remain in the background while 'Super-Males' like DiNozzo were showered with honors out on the field. On top of everything, Tim's discomfort did not involve solely himself; Aimee was also concerned and it placed him in a very awkward situation. His inborn honesty had prompted him to come clean to Stephenson about his love affair but at the same time, he adamantly refused to compromise the beautiful doctor so Tim had decided to take the whole matter upon his shoulders. And yet, in spite of his ordeal, he felt strangely calm – probably because he trusted the General in judging him fairly. Unlike Gibbs, Stephenson was not the kind to haul someone over the coals at the first misstep and Tim had appreciated this attitude a lot over the past few months. It was a refreshing display of authority after having been relentlessly belittled for years, firstly by his Admiral father, secondly by Gibbs.

"Permission to speak freely, Sir?" asked the young man.

"Granted."

"General Stephenson, I have done a lot of thinking lately and I've come to the conclusion that you should be informed about something I've done."

The older man let go of the reports and sat back on his chair, hands clasped together. McGee looked embarrassed but resolute; the typical behavior of someone who had a burden on his conscience but God knew what this NCIS genius had to be so troubled about – he certainly was not going to confess he was spending his nights carousing through Kabul!

"What is it?"

"General, I'm in a relationship with... someone, on the base."

_Uh-oh, so that's it, then! _Stephenson stifled a laugh; as if he was not informed of McGee and Captain Wilkins! His favorite spy Roberts had told him all about their nocturnal coffee sessions at the deserted mess hall, the obvious complicity, the body language. It was a matter of time before those two would have a roll in the hay – or, given their situation, on a bunk – and Stephenson had never believed Non-Fraternization policies were enough to stop relationships between consenting adults. It was part of human nature and feelings were exacerbated in war zones, especially with death constantly looming over and cutting short lives in the blink of an eye.

"My friend is blameless in this matter, Sir," continued Tim. "It was me; it's my fault. I can only say in my defense that I haven't said a word about the real purposes of my presence at ISAF, and never will. My cover as a Finance Corps Lieutenant is intact; The Watcher is uncompromised; I am ready to accept the full consequences of my actions. That's all, Sir."

"_Chivalrous _'_till the end, are you, son?" _thought Stephenson. He damn well knew the young man was not sole responsible for the situation. In fact, and in normal circumstances, Aimee Wilkins would be the blamed party since she was a _real_officer of the Marines Corps and she outranked McGee, to boot. But he was also aware Tim would not give her name, not even under the threat of being sent back to DC in disgrace and Stephenson was once again amazed by this display of loyalty. Just like ten-year-old Christopher confessing about having broken the garage's window while playing basketball whereas the real culprit had been Paulie, his best friend, who had thrown the ball too hard.

But Paulie would have received one Hell of a beating at the hands of his violent parents so Christopher had shouldered the whole responsibility, even though his father had witnessed the whole incident. Chris had accepted his undeserved punishment (grounded for two days) before receiving a bone-crushing hug from the General, proud beyond words of his son's steadfast support towards less-favored-in-life Paulie. McGee had the same loyal streak and Stephenson knew it was useless to get a confirmation of this 'friend's name; besides, he could hardly blame the young man for having chosen no-nonsense Aimee Wilkins as his lover: she was the kind who made true allies and, if it had not been for the top-notch secrecy surrounding The Watcher, she could have been involved in the project as well.

However, Stephenson could not let McGee off the hook... without a little lesson mixed with affectionate teasing! With a mock frown, he looked at the young man straight in the eyes and asked:

"Are you aware of the Fraternization Policy contained in the Marine Corps' Manual 1100.4, McGee? Fraternization is defined as a social or business relationship between Marines of different grades in violation of customs of the naval service, like gambling, clubbing, dating and sexual activities, especially for officers who are supposed to give the right example for the troops. Improper relationships between Marines of different ranks may influence a senior officer's judgment and so, alter his or her decisions while on a mission or accomplishing duties. An officer found guilty of having contravened the Fraternization Policy can face consequences from attending counseling to face a court martial. You're a civilian so your indiscretion could be excused, but if your friend is as smart as you say, then she should have known better than compromise herself for a bit of fun between the sheets!"

"I'm very sorry, Sir," said McGee. He swallowed with difficulty but his green eyes remained steady under the General's scrutinizing gaze: he refused to back down no matter what would be thrown at him in a few minutes, and Stephenson could not help but admire the young man's courage.

"Is she cute?"

A bit taken aback by the question, Tim nonetheless answered truthfully:

"Yes, Sir."

"And smart, too?"

"That's right, Sir," said Tim, his traitorous cheeks blushing under the interrogation.

"Then again, I'd have a hard time believing you're of the kind of man who would date a doofus just because she happens to be a heavy-buxom, platinum-dyed blonde with Barbie dolls' legs and a rump shaped like a pair of watermelons. In fact, I'm ready to bet your friend is discreet, non-prying and she doesn't let your relationship to distract her from her duties."

"You'd be correct, Sir," said Tim with much conviction.

"But still, you won't give out her name?"

"No, Sir. Like I've said, I take full responsibility for this matter; I have seduced my friend in spite of the Non-Fraternization policy and I should endure the consequences, not her. She doesn't even know about me telling you about the matter. My friend is innocent in every aspect so I beg you, Sir, to not ask me for her identity."

"But she's a senior officer, _Lieutenant _McGee and so, she should have been the one confessing this relationship in the first place and accepting full responsibility. Why would you deliberately place your head on the chopping block, in her stead?"

"Because I refuse to see her career ruined! I'll be away in a few months and it would be unfair to get away with it while she'd remain behind in Afghanistan and face the music alone and..."

Tim's green eyes widened and then he exclaimed: "Wait a minute... _I didn't tell you she was a senior officer, Sir!__"_

Stephenson's light chuckle made the young man realize he had been had like a wet-behind-the-ears rookie: _the General already knew the identity of his lover, so it could only mean every person working at ISAF knew as well!_ Oh my God, Aimee! She was doomed! She would be humiliated six ways to Sunday before being kicked out of the base like a criminal! Tim blushed furiously and fumbled for excuses, inwardly cursing himself for being so naïve but before he could jump to the erroneous conclusion that he was truly an idiot in the sentiment field like Tony had bellowed all over the NCIS' bullpen, the General raised a placating hand :

"Don't distress yourself, son. Yes, I know about Captain Wilkins but both of you have been very cautious. In fact, the only one besides us who know about your relationship is Corporal Roberts, and I trust his discretion."

"W-What? You…. You k-know about u-us, S-Sir?" asked Tim, his stuttering coming back with a vengeance but he was too shocked to notice it.

"McGee, I joined the Marines at the age of eighteen and it gave me plenty of time to develop a good reading of human nature, especially when special friendships between soldiers are involved, whatever their gender may be. Remember when you asked me if you were allowed to develop a friendship with someone on the base? Well, it didn't take me long to understand you were talking about Captain Wilkins – especially since Roberts had forewarned me about your first meeting with her at the mess hall. And it was a relief to know your friend would be Wilkins, frankly."

"R-Relief, Sir? But…"

"She's a good soldier, a damn good medical doctor and, most importantly, she keeps a cool head on her shoulders. You said Captain Wilkins doesn't let her private life to disturb her duties and you're right as rain; she has been working as a field doctor for years and nothing, not even the death of her father a few years ago, had prompted her to ask for a bereavement leave or to drown her sorrows in smuggled alcohol. She knows what she is about and she's no coward, either; doubtless she would have barged in my office and confessed about her affair the minute after she'd learned about you being punished for it. You're not the only one at ISAF with a ferocious loyal trait! You've chosen the right woman, son, and I know the both of you will always do your duty first, regardless of private matters – your recent, spectacular results with The Watcher is proof enough and it would be pretty stupid of me to deprive the base of an excellent medical doctor, professional and reliable."

Tim's heart was pounding inside his chest as if he would undergo cardiac arrest any minute, but he managed to stutter:

"D-Do you m-mean you w-won't take dis-disciplinary a-actions against Cap-Captain Wilkins, S-Sir?"

"Neither towards her, nor to you. Director Vance would call me the all-time King of Fools if I sent you back to DC for a breach in the Fraternization Policy whereas the safety of our soldiers is at stake, along with Afghani civilians' – and he would be right! Now, let's get something clear: I frown upon disobedience but in your case, and yours only, I'm willing to make an exception provided the Captain Wilkins and the Lieutenant McGee keep an absolute discretion about their relationship. No intimate gestures in public, no domestic quarrels and be warned that, in case of a break-up, scandals will not be allowed. The Watcher's tests schedule will remain unchanged, as well as Captain Wilkins' shifts at the hospital; your work here remains paramount of anything else and I expect you to follow my orders to the letter regardless of eventual plans you've made, like spending your off-duty time with your friend."

"Understood, Sir," said Tim, his determination calming down the emotional stuttering. He was happy beyond words that their secret was safe and Aimee would not face consequences; but he was more than determined to prove to the General that an affair would not degrade the quality of his work. In fact, he would redouble his efforts and Tim was certain Aimee had planned to do the same; it would put some extra stress on their respective shoulders but the love they shared was definitively worth the gamble. Besides, Tim had worked under Gibbs' command for years and Aimee was an army doctor: both were used to difficult circumstances and they had never cracked under the pressure.

"I suppose you have a special place whenever you two want to be alone to have a… 'discussion'?" asked Stephenson.

"That's right, Sir."

"A word of advice, son?"

"By all means, Sir."

"George Herbert has once written: _"__The mouse that hath but one hole is quickly taken"_. Roberts and I know about your involvement with Captain Wilkins but I cannot pretend we're the only ones. ISAF is a large place, filled with people of all sorts and maybe an unfriendly someone has spotted your comings and goings; so my advice is: find more special and discreet places for your 'discussions'. It might be tedious, but better safe than sorry and I don't have to remind you that romantic affairs can turn us into blind and dumb fools, including – and especially – people with sharp minds. Am I making myself clear, Lieutenant McGee?"

"Very, Sir."

"Good. Now go get some rest, you have another test run in the desert tomorrow morning, starting at 6:00. Roberts will accompany you, along with the usual team: Lay, Winter, Raff, Spikerman, Fredericks and Emerson. Don't forget to pack up your weapons, including the one you hide under your T-shirt: the area you'll be patrolling has shown some signs of rebellious activities recently."

"Will do, Sir and thank you, Sir," said Tim sincerely. He would be eternally grateful towards the General for safeguarding Aimee's career and he would express his thanks by making The Watcher the most reliable detecting device of the US armed forces and giving all the credit to Stephenson: it was the least he could do!

"You may go."

Tim saluted and, after the door had closed behind him, Stephenson let out a sigh. He was not against that the federal agent was involved with Aimee Wilkins; he had been sincere when saying the woman had her head screwed on right, with too much good sense to act the fool. In fact, he secretly hoped a love affair would incite McGee to ask for an extension of his mission in Afghanistan, and thus the General would have more time to enjoy the presence of this young man, who resembled so much to his beloved Christopher! Maybe it was a selfish move but Stephenson did not care; he had carefully studied McGee's career at NCIS and he had been appalled by the description of his working environment, especially after finding out his supervisor was ex-Marine Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Stephenson had know Gibbs during the Gulf War, even though they had never been formally introduced and the General was quite aware of Gibbs' fearlessness and leadership qualities, unfortunately spoiled by impatience, easy anger, technological ineptitude and single-mindedness, thus preventing him from rising farther than the rank of Gunnery Sergeant.

And, from what Stephenson had learned, Gibbs was far from appreciating McGee's talents to the fullest…

"_How could some people be so infernally stupid?!"_ thought the General in the silence of his office.

* * *

><p><em>At the same time, in NCIS…<em>

Gibbs was staring morosely into space, barely looking at the e-mails displayed on his computer screen. Today was the day of Abby's return, her suspension being officially terminated but the Team Leader sincerely doubted her reinstatement would go smoothly. For weeks, Abby had adamantly refused to have contact with her NCIS colleagues, stating she could not receive them at her messy flat and she did not have the means to clean it up, since she had to save money on housekeeping and gas fillings for her car were out of the question, too. But Gibbs was not fooled; he knew Abby shunned them because she had been worried their conversation would fall on the Dog Attack classes she had been forced to attend by Director Vance. The Goth woman would inevitably rant and rave about the injustice of her punishment and it would have certainly created a major fall-out with Ziva, Ducky and even Jimmy Palmer.

Tony had not been of any help whatsoever – in fact, he had been particularly tedious those past weeks, constantly asking Ziva out even though the Israeli woman had made it clear she was not interested in having dinner with the Senior Agent. In fact, Tony's behavior was close to harassment and it looked as if his recent demotion had caused a major trauma inside his brains, making him act imprudently as it was common knowledge Ziva was not the patient kind. Or maybe it had been the recent incident with Nick Miller?

Gibbs sighed loudly and looked at Tony, remembering the moment when he had broken the news to his subordinates…

_(Flashback)_

"_Sarah McGee and I met at Tim's front door by pure chance, and then we heard noises inside the apartment so I broke down the door and pointed my handgun at an intruder holding a gym bag; later, Sarah found out the bag had been filled with objects belonging to her brother."_

"_A burglar?" had asked Ziva._

"_Yeah, an opportunistic burglar who had somehow learned about Tim's absence and he helped himself with his valuables. I cuffed the guy on the spot and Sarah called the police. They arrived moments later and hauled his ass downtown, since he had a criminal record."_

"_Did you identify the suspect? Was he someone related to our cases?"_

"_Yes and no, Ziver; we've met this burglar before but not during a case and he has a good experience in thievery, in spite of his young years."_

"_But who was it?" had asked Tony, a puzzled look on his face._

"_Someone you have appreciated a lot in the past, DiNozzo: it was Nick Miller, the son of Tim's landlady."_

"_WHAT?"_

"_Yeah, he's a teenager now but he apparently hasn't gained any brain cells since he were twelve years old. He's still a spoiled little brat with a grudge the size of the Titanic's against McGee."_

"_Isn't he the kid who has stolen Tim's money by hacking into his computer, after having illegally entered inside his apartment?" asked Ziva, her eyes getting a shade darker._

"_The very same, and he doesn't have an ounce of remorse about his past actions. In fact, he bragged about having stolen from McGee in the past, stating our colleague deserved it for being a loser and a bore."_

"_Oh, c'mon, Boss," started to say Tony. "I'm sure Nick didn't mean it…"_

_Gibbs's blue gaze turned into ice in less than a second: "Oh, you are, DiNozzo? Then how do you explain Nick was getting ready to leave the premises with electronic devices, laptop computer, DVD player to name a few, and also pricey pieces of jewelry? All this stuff has been formally identified by Sarah and it didn't take long for the cops to find Nick's prints all over Tim's possessions. Why do you think Nick was at McGee's in the first place, to water the plants? To air the rooms? To make sure he hasn't abandoned his dog behind to die of starvation, locked up in the bathroom? No, DiNozzo, this thieving kid was here to steal for the second time, as retaliation against McGee for having pressed charges against him!"_

"_What do you mean?"_

"_You may have found it hilarious that your colleague had been robbed by a twelve-year-old, DiNozzo, but sure as heck Tim didn't appreciate the joke. What's more, breaking into McGee's apartment wasn't Nick's trial run; if you had done your job correctly, you would've found out the kid has been robbing his mother's tenants for weeks: money, iPods, jewelry, anything he could get his greedy hands on because he needed cash to buy more of those goddamned video games, since he was sooooo lonely and didn't know what to do of his free time. Funny that the idea of doing his homework, playing sports or getting a part-time job has never crossed his mind! Tim led a legal action on behalf of his neighbors and sued his landlady – and guess what? He won! Apparently, the judge hasn't been impressed by Nick's so-called loneliness since his father left and how stealing from his mother's tenants was just a way for him to pass the time… or to teach McGee a lesson in the lines of: _"Nice guys are to be diddled, as they are stupid enough to believe in goodness." _So the judge sent Nick to Juvenile Hall to make him realize the errors of his ways, but obviously that was only wishful thinking since I caught Nick red-handed in the apartment of one of his former victims, with about $5,000 worth of stolen goods."_

"_Where's that kid now? I'll kick his ass from here to Jerusalem!" had growled Ziva._

"_Calm down, David; Nick is in jail, awaiting trial and since he's sixteen years old and a recidivist no doubts the outcome will be another stay at Juvie. He'll probably celebrate his eighteenth birthday between four walls!"_

_Tony had winced: "Damn, that's hard. Maybe you shouldn't have turned him over to the cops, Boss. Maybe…"_

"_And what would you have done, you'd have let Nick get away with it again?" had shot Ziva back. "He has robbed Tim twice and you still think this kid deserve a chance. I can't believe you! Don't you have any consideration towards McGee? Aren't you a federal agent who has sworn to uphold the law? Aren't you…"_

"_Whoa, sheathe your claws, Ninja Girl! I'm just saying that Nick ought to be punished, but not with prison time. He's made a mistake but…"_

"_No 'buts' or yours is history, Tony!"_

"_Calm down, the both of you!" had said Gibbs in his best no-nonsense tone. "There's no need to start another riot in the bullpen. Nick Miller has been caught stealing from McGee and he'll be treated accordingly to the laws ruling our state, end of story. DiNozzo, if you still feel sympathetic towards the kid, you're welcome to visit him in prison but, for your information, the only regret Nick has ever expressed was having failed to steal your credit cards, while you were getting all chummy with him at McGee's expense."_

"_WHAT?" had exclaimed Tony for the second time._

"_Yeah, Nick called you an __imbecile, a complete fool, an idiot and I've forgotten the rest. He would have picked your pockets and robbed you blind given half a chance, but you were too busy praising the kid to do your job properly, as a federal agent should do! Nick is a manipulative little cheat who has made you dance like a marionette on strings, using both that __sob story about his absent father and your oversized vanity to humiliate McGee in front of the whole bullpen, so he would be too ashamed to press charges against the kid. And __you still consider Nick as a junior version of you? Then you have very low standards, DiNozzo!"_

_(End of flashback)_

Tony had remained sullen for a whole week after that and the situation had remained strained ever since; even the news of Abby's return had not improved anything. In fact, Tony and Ziva seemed tenser than before, probably because they worried about her reaction after seeing the changes Patterson had made in her lab – and they were probably right.

A 'ding' announced the arrival of the elevator to their floor, and a black form in a white lab coat jumped out of the cabin as soon as the metallic sliding doors opened.

"**Gibbs! Gibbs! Gibbs!"** shouted Abby, startling everyone in the bullpen except for the silver-haired man, who merely took off his reading glasses and asked:

"What is it, Abby?"

"**What is it? WHAT IS IT? My lab's a mess, that's what is it! Peterson has moved all my babies! He has locked up the stereo in a storeroom and he doesn't want to give me the key. He even got rid of Bert! And there was a pyramid made with dog food cans right in front of the lab's door when I arrived first thing in the morning – a very funny joke, ha-ha but I had to remove all those cans by myself and I could have hurt my back! It's inadmissible! Isn't it enough that I had to attend those awful dog attack classes, to come back and have my lab pillaged and vandalized during my absence? I've been unfairly suspended and now…"**

Special Agent Charles Baty suddenly bust out laughing, quickly followed Stewart, Grant and all the people at the bullpen. Their hilarity cut Abby's protests short and she watched, red-faced, the agents laughing their heads off as if they were watching a real-life Charlie Chaplin movie. Gibbs glared at the audience, so did Tony but Ziva repressed the urge to roll her eyes heavenwards. Trust Abby to make a scene on her first day back to work! They could thank their lucky stars that Vance was attending meetings elsewhere; otherwise, Team Gibbs would be sentenced to another round of review board sessions.

"**What's so funny?"** screamed a furious Abby at the top of her lungs.

"Abby, calm down!" said Gibbs. "Refrain from making scenes, will you?"

"_**I**_** make scenes? How do you like that? They're laughing at me and…"**

Another 'ding' announced the return of the elevator but this time, it was ME Assistant James 'Jimmy' Palmer who stepped out of the cabin, his young face looking absolutely furious.

"Abby, have you gone nuts? That's the only logical explanation for your behavior!" said the young man, and the laughter quieted down.

"Mind your own business, Palmer, and get lost!" barked Gibbs.

"Unfortunately, Agent Gibbs, what has recently happened downstairs is _my_ business," answered Jimmy. "Not only Abby is making enough noise to wake up our patients at the morgue, not only she has been screaming like a banshee at Patterson for the past two hours – regardless of disturbing the other lab technicians in their work – but she also pushed away Doctor Mallard when he was trying to calm her and that's unacceptable!"

Gibbs turned incredulous eyes towards the Goth woman: "_You_ pushed Ducky?"

"It was an accident! I was so angry at Patterson that I didn't notice Ducky was coming behind me and…"

"An accident, my foot! Doctor Mallard called you out, he asked what the matter was and you deliberately pushed him! Do you have any idea what would have happened if Doctor Mallard had slipped and fell down? Aren't you aware a man his age is likely to have fragility fractures in the vertebral column, ribs, hips and wrists, thanks to osteoporosis? Don't you know this kind of fractures can lead to permanent disability, or even death? And, on top of everything, how can you possibly _dare_ to raise a hand against Doctor Mallard?" said Jimmy, his blazing eyes shining like a wolf's behind his round glasses.

Unbeknownst to the assistant ME, someone was watching him with a lot of interest from the catwalk: it was Sam, one of the MTAC technicians, who was absolutely floored by Jimmy making a stand against the most feared agent of NCIS and his spoiled protégée. It was quite a sight to behold!

Abby's lower lip started to tremble: "It was an accident…"

"No, it wasn't! You lashed out at Doctor Mallard on purpose and you're damn lucky to be a woman; otherwise, Gibbs' favorite or not, I'd have punched your lights out!"

"You wouldn't!"

"Oh yes, I would! I'm the Autopsy Gremlin, remember? And Gremlins are very nasty creatures when crossed. You should have thought of that before giving me that silly nickname!"

"That's enough, Palmer!" interjected Gibbs again.

A third 'ding', sounding like a hammer striking a boxing-ring gong, and Doctor Donald Mallard stepped out of the cabin at a much quieter pace than Abby and Jimmy.

"Ah, Mister Palmer, there you are. I was not informed of your whereabouts after you've left the morgue in a hurry and I was getting worried."

"Sorry, Doctor Mallard; I just wanted to explain a few things to Miss Sciuto here – especially about proper behavior expected in a workplace and towards seniors."

"Yes, well, you seemed to have made your point," said the elderly ME, looking at Gibbs' furious face, Abby trying to hide behind her surrogate father, Tony's stupefied look and Ziva's dark expression. "But under no circumstances should we let anger preventing us from doing our jobs. A murdered Marine has arrived at the morgue and it is our duty to determine the exact causes of his death. Now, we should go back downstairs and put our brains to better use than yelling at one another, don't you think so, Mister Palmer?"

"Yes, Doctor Mallard."

Jimmy glared at Abby one last time, and then he turned heels and headed for the elevator. Ducky gently patted him on the back and then, they disappeared from sight after the cabin's doors had closed behind them; however, Sam kept his gaze fixed on the elevator for a long time, the souvenir of Jimmy confronting Gibbs branded inside his mind like with a red-hot iron.

TBC…


	43. An identification

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- Another 'bumpy ride' chapter. Please fasten your seatbelts and respect the safety measures. Your life-jacket is under your seat! xD

- Ducky's age is based on actor David McCallum's.

_- A verbis ad verbera_ is a Latin quote meaning: "From words to blows"_._

- To Guests, None and Sandra: thank you very much for your kind words. It is nice to know you're enjoying the story!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 43: A revelation<strong>

Once Ducky and Jimmy had gone back to the morgue, Gibbs grabbed Abby by the arm and said in a low voice: "I'm taking you back to the lab; DiNozzo, David, follow us in five minutes, got it?"

"Okay, Boss."

"Right, Gibbs."

The silver-haired man led a much-embarrassed Goth to the staircase (it would have taken too long to wait for the elevator); he deliberately ignored the disapproving looks from the other agents. Their mirth provoked by Abby's outburst about her 'unfair' punishment had been promptly erased by anger and only Gibbs' presence shielded her from public shame; but Abby was perfectly aware of what was going to happen, since raising a hand against Ducky was a sacrilegious move in NCIS. The affable, story-telling ME had become a surrogate grandfather to everyone and his quiet demeanor was highly appreciated in a stress-filled workplace dealing with criminal cases and the agents feared when Doctor Mallard would be forced to retire – they were not looking forward to it and so, they were not going to be keen towards an employee who could advance that day by her brusqueness!

The walk down the stairs was made in deadly silence and only after they had reached the lab in the sub-basement – Gibbs noted the pile of dog food cans that had been stuffed in a corner next to the sliding glass doors – did the ex-Marine started reading Abby the riot act:

"Are you proud of yourself, Abby? Fist you chase McGee away, then you destroy your reputation at NCIS and now, you're attacking Ducky? If I didn't know better, I'd sworn you've decided to destroy my team one member after another!"

"That's not true, Gibbs! It's just... Well, look, you can see what Peterson has done to mylab, no?"

She made a large sweep with her arm and Gibbs glanced around; the place had certainly changed since he had last been there, and it was just before Tim had announced he was leaving for Afghanistan. The lab was almost unrecognizable simply because it had been cleaned up: gone were the stereo, the spotlights, the mirrored disco ball, the ugly posters announcing rock bands' concerts; the entire desk thingamajigs had disappeared, replaced by regular office supplies and Bert the stuffed hippo was missing. The lab machines had changed place around the room, the funny screen savers had been replaced by a navy-blue one bearing the NCIS logo and the futon had been folded up and covered by a tarp. The place had been stripped of its former, who-gives-a-damn look and turned into a no-nonsense place complete with immaculate chemistry equipment, clean notice board and notes carefully piled up. Even the wastebasket had been emptied and the tables were free of any sparkle of dust, a proof of Peterson's professionalism.

"So?" asked Gibbs.

"That's all you have to say? _"So"_? Can't you see what Peterson has done? He has **depersonalized **my workplace!"

"Abby, the guy's been here for three months; it entitled him to make this lab his own. I sure wouldn't like to work in a space filled with Goth culture's references: why do you think I never stay here for long?"

"What?!"

"Well, yes. All these skulls, ghoulish faces and allusions to cemeteries are a little too close for comfort. We deal with death every day on the job and I don't need reminders of it! If I had a taste for gruesome human remains on display, I'd go see Ducky at the morgue anytime... And, speaking of whom, whatever possessed you to push him?"

"Jimmy exaggerated the whole incident! I didn't push Ducky; I just gave him a little shove, that's all. But that stupid Gremlin always has to give his two cents' worth to..."

"_You gave him a little shove, and that's all?_ Are you out of your mind?" roared Gibbs and Abby recoiled in fear. "You pushed Ducky and it could have terrible consequences for him. He's seventy-eight years old, for crying out loud! His bones are frail, his equilibrium is compromised and he could have fallen and break a rib, or even an arm; most importantly, _he's entitled to our respect_! Res-pect, Abby! Do you have any idea of what this word means?"

An anguished scream answered the Team Leader's question; Abby fell on a nearby chair and started crying her eyes out, lamenting between two heavy sobs the loss of her lab, the loss of her friends, the loss of her Boss' affections and – quite surprisingly – the loss of Tim. How was she supposed to cope with so many tragedies and so little support? How could she live after her universe had been shattered beyond repairs? How could she be her usual self with a twelve-week suspension degrading her record? And how could she imagine her future after Tim had dumped her without a backward glance, mercilessly crushing her feelings under his combat boots?

That last statement made Gibbs seriously consider storming out of the lab and let Abby deal with the consequences of her actions on her own, as Ducky advised him to do so months ago. But her cries intensified in intensity and, old habits being hard to break, he found himself trying to calm the woman but to no avail. Tearing paper handkerchiefs to pieces, Abby swore she would join a nunnery, cut her hair and take a new name since nobody, absolutely nobody loved her; that she had been fooling herself for years thinking people at NCIS would respect her work and her personality; that she had been betrayed by her own team and she would never forget this; that she had been thrown in jail for defending an innocent dog whereas she should have been awarded a medal; that she had been dragged in the mud by her ex-lover, who had ratted her to Vance; that...

"All right, stop it!" exclaimed Gibbs. Not only he was getting angry at Abby's wild accusations but he was also worried her howls would put her in more trouble than she already was, on her very first day of re-instatement.

"Hey, could you keep it down? Some people here want to work," said a third voice.

The ex-Marine looked up and saw Forensics expert Richard "Rick" Peterson standing on the lab's threshold, his arms crossed on his chest. Gibbs had not bothered to meet the man during Abby's suspension; it had seemed pointless since his team had been assigned to the filing of cold cases since Tim's departure but with hindsight, maybe he should have done it, considering the fed-up expression on Peterson' face!

The sight of her nemesis pushed Abby over the edge; jumping on her feet, she screeched:

"**Give me back my stuff, you jerk! Where's Bert? I'm oughta slug you!"**

"In your dreams, Sciuto! Your metal-and-rags attire really doesn't impress me – just like your bodyguard, by the way."

"Where are Abby's things, Peterson?"

"Hello to you too, Agent Gibbs. As your darling favorite has already told you, the contents of her junk shop is locked up in a closet located in the corridor. When I started to work here, I was immediately taken aback by the chaos filling this room: supposedly funny gadgets, posters each one as ugly as the other, stereo filled with noise passing for music, just the kind of things usually found in a teenager's bedroom but not in a federal agency's lab. In case it has escaped your attention, we scientists are supposed to conduct our analysis in a spotless and efficient environment so yes, I committed the ultimate crime to remove those silly decorations and stock them in a safe place until Miss Sciuto's return. I work in a laboratory, not in a Luna Park on Halloween night! Funny thing is, none of the other lab techs have complained about this change; in fact, they have deeply appreciated the quietness and professionalism that had reigned here for three months – too bad it had to come to an abrupt end..."

"Why won't you give Abby her belongings back?"

"Simple, Agent Gibbs: Miss Sciuto hasn't said the magic word."

This simple statement made Abby grind her teeth furiously, and Gibbs gave his best glare towards Peterson.

"Say that again?"

"You heard, Agent Gibbs; Miss Sciuto hasn't said an 'Everyday magic' word, which could appear strange for an outside observer since she's supposed to be heavily involved in necromancy, voodoo, dark legends and all the rest of it so acquiring the rudiments of 'Everyday magic' should be a cinch, and yet she has never bothered to learn it. Then again, why would she? 'Everyday magic' is for losers, according to you, and Miss Sciuto adores you too much to say otherwise – contrary to Agent McGee."

"Everyday magic? What the Hell are you babbling about?"

"Oh, yes, sorry; I should have been more specific. 'Everyday magic' is commonly known as 'politeness' and the word Miss Sciuto has conveniently forgotten to say is: 'please'. As she had come up to me and say: _"Please, Peterson, can you give me the key to the closet so I can retrieve my stuff?"_ I would have gladly obliged. But no, she had to storm in my workplace and heap insults about me mistreating her _"babies"_ (as if machines could be compared to children) and promising me Hellfire and punishment for having dared to desecrate her _sanctum_. Her ridiculous outburst lasted for about two hours in spite of my protests, the interventions of other lab technicians who have been completely floored by Miss Sciuto's attitude, and last but not the least, she shoved away Doctor Mallard after he had tried to calm her with a proposal of tea and sympathy. Let me tell you that your pet's behavior won't be swept under the carpet as usual, Agent Gibbs. Director Vance may have though a three-month suspension would calm down Miss Sciuto, but he was wrong and he is going to realize his mistake real soon, because I will ask him to take disciplinary actions against her."

Abby blanched at those words: disciplinary actions, right after her suspension? But she could be fired!

"You can't do that!" protested the Goth woman.

"And why not, pray tell? Because you have Agent Gibbs in your corner and so, you can strut about NCIS as if you owned the place? Well, it won't suffice this time; no matter how many death threats I'll receive from your protector or his minions, it won't stop me from filing a complaint. You thought you could act as you please since, according to Agent Gibbs, jerks have the right to tyrannize and insult other people but, unfortunately, this is not how the real world works. Rudeness and inconsideration may look funny on the outside, but it sure isn't funny when you find yourself the target of it. This is a federal agency, not a Marines' boot camp and it's too bad Agent Gibbs has realized this fact a little too late, right after his best agent has thrown in the towel, disgusted by your attitude."

Peterson grabbed something inside his white coat's pocket and tossed it to Gibbs, who caught it deftly in mid-air: it was a small skeleton key.

"Here's what you need to open the closet where the bric-a-brac and the stuffed hippopotamus are kept – and don't even try to tell me that _**I**_ have to put it back at its former place! I can shout as loud as you can, Miss Sciuto and I don't submit to blackmail, not even from a former Marine's. Congratulations, Agent Gibbs: you have found a perfect daughter to replace your own! Inconsiderate, selfish and uncaring, she's the spitting image of you – along with adopted son DiNozzo and surrogate niece David. It's obvious to see why Agent McGee has never fitted in your 'family' and never will; he's way too decent for that!"

"Enough, Peterson!" roared Gibbs. "Go back to your lab and leave us alone; and don't you dare talking to me about McGee!"

"Why, is there a Gibbs' rule stating: _"Never talk about McGee on pain of incurring an ex-Marine's wrath?"._ Yeah, I'm aware of those infamous rules supposedly reflecting the wisdom you've acquired from your military past and personal life. What a joke! They're nothing but plain common sense, which can be found in any sensible person. Then again, common sense is neither your top quality, nor your children's, so that's the reason why you need a set of rules, isn't it?"

The Team Leader looked ready to strangle the forensic scientist on the spot; those rules had first been established by Shannon, his beloved wife, and over the years he had added new ones to the list, which had grown to the point of reaching the number of fifty-one – and this last rule, _"Sometimes, you're wrong"_, had been plaguing Gibbs ever since he had seen Tim's plane taking off from the tarmac of Base Andrews, leaving him furious and desolated.

"Back off, Peterson, or I won't answer for what will happen next."

"Yeah, right: first the threats, then the violence, _A verbis ad verbera _and never apologize, it's a sign of weakness. For your information, Agent Gibbs, you repel me – good thing you've never deigned to meet me during my time in this lab. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a job to do with adults co-workers, which may help you to understand why I cannot stay in Miss Sciuto's personal lab a minute longer. You have trained your teammates wonderfully, Agent Gibbs: apart from one, they are as unbearable as you are…"

At the same moment, the elevator reached the sub-basement's level and the cabin's metallic doors slid open, letting out Tony and Ziva.

"Hey, Peterson-party-pooper! What're you doing here?" asked the demoted Senior Agent.

"See what I mean?" said the forensic expert before turning heels and walking down the corridor, leaving Gibbs to draw his own conclusions.

Peterson's lack of answer and Gibbs' furious eyes made Tony suddenly consider the possibility that he may have goofed and the best way to deal with this kind of situation was to promptly change the subject. Then, Tony noticed the cans dumped in the corner and decided it would make a handy diversion:

"Abby, why are you all stocked up on dog food? If it's for Jethro, McGee has told you before he would be fine at his friend's…"

"**I didn't buy these!"** exploded the Lab Rat, making Tony pale at the thought he had blundered two times in less than a minute. **"I told you before, it's a 'welcome back' present from the other guys at forensics, can't you listen? They thought it very funny to make me remember those disgusting Dog Attack classes!"**

"_Not used to be on the receiving end of a lousy joke, are you, Abby?"_ thought Ziva sadly as she crouched down near the pile; amongst the various kinds of tinned foods were along with other 'presents' such as collars made of plastic or leather, rubber bones, squeaking toys of different sizes and colors, leashes and even a dog dish where the caption _"Abby Sciuto is an idiot"_ had been written on the round, plastic surface with a permanent black marker. No doubts those gifts had been inspired by Abby's scandal about the canine Jethro, plus the news about her being forced to attend dog attack classes. For too long the Goth woman had not given a damn about what the other scientists were actually thinking about her spoiled-child-running-to-Gibbs' attitude and she was getting quite a wake-up call.

Tony tried to explain he did not mean anything wrong, but Abby fell back on her chair and started to cry again:

"What am I going to do? Peterson's going to file a complaint against me! I'm as good as sacked – after all I had to endure during my suspension!"

"C'mon, Abs! I'm sure you'll forget those classes soon…"

"_Forget them?_ But how can you say this, Tony? Those classes were awful! Every day, we had to watch videos about people being torn apart by dogs, and then there were images of their wounds and how the doctors were trying to repair the damages, like putting back an eye that had been gouged out or re-shaping an ear; there were traumatized kids who couldn't bear the sight of a dog afterwards, not even on a picture book, and adults quacking in their shoes in front of a French Poodle. And now I have to live with those horrible images for the rest of my life!"

"Well, now maybe you will acquire the idea that being attacked by a dog is no small matter and there's nothing to laugh about. Maybe you'll finally realize what McGee has endured!" said an acerb Ziva.

A stunned silence followed the Israeli woman's declaration. Ziva got on her feet and looked at her teammates straight in the eyes, silently challenging them to make her change her words – which she would not do for all the tea in India (or was it in China?). Gibbs frowned at her but Tony remained agape, unable to comprehend the woman's stand: as formidable as she could be with knives and hand-in-hand combat, Ziva had military discipline drilled in her skull at an early age and so, she was not the kind to rebel against her leader or, by extension, against his favorite.

"W-What did you say?" asked a tearful Abby.

"Do I have to remind you of the wounds McGee has sustained from a certain dog?" said Ziva with a dangerous tone. "Do I also have to remind you of your attitude following this incident? Frankly, I don't know what has hurt Tim the most: being mauled by a dog, or being harassed by his own team members afterwards!"

"Ziva…"

"But I suppose it was his entire fault since the very beginning, eh? He survived the attack by shooting the German shepherd and that was inexcusable: it was Tim who was supposed to die, not the dog. Tim's life is not worth a dog's!"

"That's not true! I've never said such a terrible thing!" exclaimed Abby.

"Hey, tone it down, Ninja Girl!" said Tony. "As I recall, you're not exactly on the up and up about this case, either: you laughed your ass off after I've played that barking-mad CD joke on Probie."

"Yes, I did – to my eternal shame!" shot Ziva, her eyes as hard as obsidian stones. "But unlike you, DiNozzo, I apologized to Tim for my attitude; and unlike you, Abby, I didn't take his forgiveness for granted!"

"But I've never…"

"Oh, be quiet and get back to work! At least, when you're in your lab, we don't have to listen to your jeremiads."

"That's quite enough, Ziver!" interrupted Gibbs. "You and DiNozzo, go grab some garbage bags and stuff them with those dog-related 'presents' near the glass doors; I want the whole lot gone! Abby, come with me, we're going to pick up your stuff. This lab must be back to its full functioning mode within five minutes and I don't want to hear another word from the three of you. _Not one_, is that clear?"

Tony and Ziva nodded; Abby blew her nose one last time and tearfully followed Gibbs in the corridor. The closet was located next to the bathrooms and the Goth woman inwardly took it as a personal insult. A few lab techs looked up from their work but one cold glare from the Team Leader discouraged potential onlookers to watch Abby retrieving her belongings. Once the closet's door was opened, Gibbs realized there was too much stuff to be taken for the two of them so he told the Lab Rat to take what she needed the most. Sniffing, Abby chose to take Bert and the posters; the stereo, spotlights, desk gadgets and disco ball would take too much time to re-set them and, judging from Gibbs' tone, he was not in the mood to indulge her a bit of fantasy.

They returned to the lab; most of the dog food cans had been packed and Tony was charging the garbage bags inside the elevator, groaning slightly from the weight. Ziva darted a dark glare at Abby, but she remained silent as she had more pressing matters to think about.

Mostly, she was wondering why Vance had not given her any news about her demand to speak to Tim via the MTAC link. Ziva knew Ducky had asked the Director for this favor, but so far she had not heard a thing… Could it be a silent refusal from Vance? Was he too concerned about the secrecy surrounding the special project? Or, even worse, was it because Tim had simply refused to talk to his teammates, considering their less-than-enthusiastic responses about his mission in Afghanistan?

Ziva knew she and Tim had departed in good terms; and yet, she could not help but thinking about McGee being too disgusted by his NCIS co-workers to bother inquiring about them. But, with this lingering silence, how would she ever be able to tell Tim about her growing feelings towards him?

* * *

><p><em>At ISAF…<em>

A knock at the door interrupted Stephenson's writing.

"Enter!" barked the General.

The door turned on its hinges and Corporal Roberts entered the room with a folder tucked under his left arm. He saluted and stood to attention as protocol required, but Stephenson could see symptoms of agitation on his _aide-de-camp_'s usually placid face, a tell-tale sign that something major had happened.

"What is it, Roberts?"

"Sir, it's about the four glass landmines Lieutenant McGee has found, thanks to his computer's detection-program."

"Yes?"

"We have given those landmines to forensics for examination, and the scientists have found two hairs and three fingerprints inside the glass casings. The bomber didn't think his devices would ever be found – at best they'd explode in a trillion pieces if they worked, at worst they'd remain buried in the sand in case of misfire – and so, he didn't bother to wear gloves or anything. It took some time to make some comparative analysis but the men at forensics have found out to which person the fingerprints belongs to. They also took DNA samples from the hairs' follicles to get a confirmation of the perpetrator's identity. Here are their conclusions, Sir," said Roberts, handing out the folder he had under his arm.

Stephenson took it and read the detailed report tucked inside; the conclusions were astonishing: the suspect was an American! According to forensics, the hair and fingerprints belonged to a man who had been honorably discharged from the army years ago after having won a packet of medals for acts of bravery in Viet-Nam, Lebanon, in the Persian Gulf and during Operation Desert Storm. But there was a note claiming the man had loudly protested about the amount of his pension, but then he had dropped the matter before any action could have been taken. It was also mentioned the suspect had been hired by a company providing bodyguards to businessmen and movie stars, but had resigned after six months to join a private security firm. Then, he had been sent to Russia following the destruction of the Berlin Wall and had not been seen or heard in the USA ever since. However, he had been spotted in European war-torn countries like Bosnia-Herzegovina, Macedonia and Serbia, without anyone able to find out what the man's activities were.

The General felt nauseous at the reading of this report; the very thought of an American building bombs for Talibans was revolting, and doubtless the suspect was the kind of man to sell his weapon experience to the highest bidder in a snap, regardless of the casualties inflicted on his compatriots. Also, the suspect was of a shrewd character: using an 'antique' kind of landmine that was cheap, easy to assemble and whose model had been practically forgotten a long time ago by the US army… it could only please his customers! Stephenson repressed a shudder at the thought of what would have happened if McGee had refused to come to Afghanistan. Without the young man's brilliant input, dozens of Marines would have been killed by the suspect's deviousness and the General would have been powerless to do anything against it. Thanks to The Watcher, the Coalition forces had finally gained the upper hand: the suspect had been identified; his explosive devices would be neutralized one after another; soon, he would be captured and his testimony would prove to be invaluable;

Stephenson stared at the black-and-white photograph attached to the report's corner by a paper clip: the portrait of a brutish-looking man with short hair, a large chin, big ears and a thin mouth.

"_Your days are numbered, my friend,"_ thought the General as he unclipped the photo and handed it to Roberts.

"Corporal, make copies of this photo and give them to the MPs. Tell them this man is the prime suspect on an ongoing investigation and they must bring him alive at ISAF for interrogation. This man is probably armed and dangerous, so they'll have to take all the necessary precautions. Also, warn our contacts at the Afghan police; they know the streets of Kabul better than us so they can spot the suspect quicker than we can. Don't mention he's the culprit responsible for the failed attempt against the girls' school, otherwise the Afghani will want to interrogate him themselves and we can't risk him to bribe his way out of prison."

"Yes, Sir!"

"You're dismissed."

Roberts saluted and exited the office to carry on his orders. Stephenson read the report again and he glared somberly at the name displayed at the top of the paper:

_**BUTLER, Burt**_.

TBC…


	44. A passion 2

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- Tim and Aimee's second love scene… Still poetic and not graphic.

- Arthur Wellesley, 1st Duke of Wellington (1769–1852), was a British soldier and statesman, the adversary of Napoleon Bonaparte during the Peninsula War (1808-1814).

- To Earthdragon: Butler certainly isn't interested in knowing his landmines and other exploding devices hurt or main his compatriots, or innocent civilians. He's only interested in money and that makes him a disreputable individual for sure.

- To Mr. Danish: sorry to make you wait, but between school and the office it is hard for me to find time for writing! ;-)

- To Tad: there will be more action in the next chapters, keep on reading!

- To MJ and guests: thank you!

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><p><strong>Chapter 44: A passion 2<strong>

Sergeant Miller verified one last time the gear he would need for his night raid. Gun: check; video camera: check; master-key: check; brass knuckles: check; Taser weapon: check; plastic restrains: check; condoms: check; a new FROG balaclava: check; gloves: check. Everything was in order; his leg wound had been bandaged good and tight and Doctor al-Hassan's opium pills had done a good job in reducing the pain into a dull ache. Moving would not be too much of a problem and he knew the base's staircases, corridors and basements like the palm of his hand. He had mastered sneaking past MPs' patrols to the perfection so he did not fear those dumb-heads would barge in and spoil the fun. He had put up the perfect plan and his mission would be a complete success.

The Sergeant smiled evilly in anticipation; he would cherish the souvenir of this night forever: he was going to destroy McGee and Wilkins!

Oh yes, the queer and the slut would learn the hard way that messing with Sergeant Miller was a fatal mistake. McGee had made a mockery of _**his**_ orders, threatened _**his**_ virility with a knife and, last but not the least, insulted _**him**_ by shagging that self-righteous whore Wilkins; a woman who, by all rights, should have spread her legs for **him**, Kenneth Miller, and for nobody else! But he who laughs last laughs the best: after the Sergeant would be done with them, McGee and Wilkins would spend the rest of their days in medical care, begging doctors to be put out of their misery and cursing the day they had been brought into the world.

A few weeks ago, Miller had spotted McGee and Wilkins in the hospital's basement, coming out of an abandoned room licking each other's face like the bitches in heat they were; it had disgusted the Sergeant to no end, cementing his resolution in teaching his enemies a lesson they would never forget. Finding a discreet place had been a good move from their part, though: getting laid in military base was not easy with the bothersome MPs constantly prowling around – but not clever enough to escape from his watchfulness! Miller knew where McGee and Wilkins' love nest was; since their affair was illicit, they would not scream for help and alert the MPs: he had the best cards in hand and the outcome would be simply great – it would feel like winning the Las Vegas World Series of Poker!

He had learned from a nurse aid – a goody two-shoes snot-nosed rookie – that Doctor Wilkins would be off-duty tonight. Of course, it could only mean a little fun was planned in the hospital's basement and the Sergeant would crash into McGee and Wilkins' private party and annihilate the cursed couple, thanks to the failure-proof plan concocted by his brilliant mind:

_Step One_: open discreetly the basement room's door with the master-key.

_Step Two_: burst in the room with Taser in hand. Miller could already picture in his mind the horrified faces of naked McGee and Wilkins, unarmed and unable to escape him!

_Step Three_: taser McGee: the fag would fall on the floor like a tree and remain paralyzed for a good fifteen to twenty minutes.

_Step Four_: slug Wilkins and, while the trollop would be seeing stars, make her feel what a **real** man was.

_Step Five_: once he would be finished with Wilkins, pulverize her pretty face with the brass knuckles as retribution for having snubbed him. Then, it would be McGee's turn.

Miller snickered hyena-like at the thought of what he had in store for the bastard: after he would be done with him, McGee would beg for death but the Sergeant would not grant him this favor, not in this lifetime. Instead, he planned to extort a confession from the fag, forcing him to admit he was Stephenson's boy-toy and record the admission on tape. Then he would post the video on the Internet, tearing the General's reputation into shreds and the Sergeant's vengeance would be complete. The fag, the tart and the old bastard would be utterly destroyed!

And Miller had thought of everything: balaclava to protect his identity, gloves and condoms to avoid being betrayed by fingerprints or DNA… He had even shortened his butch cut with electric clippers, so there won't be hairs long enough to be found on the 'crime scene' in case an investigation would be launched, but that was highly improbable. Frankly, who would give a damn about a tart and her pansy boyfriend being raped and tortured in a military base? Especially since they were the protégés of a disgraced General… It would not be a good publicity for the Marines! Nah, the whole matter would be swept under the carpet and once the three cockroaches would have left Afghanistan, Sergeant Miller would become ISAF's unchallenged underground leader. No one would dare to stand on his way and he would turn this base into a lucrative black market place… Maybe even set up a discreet brothel, why not?

Chuckling lightly to himself, Miller packed his gear and exited the storeroom he had been hiding in. A quick glance around confirmed him the place was free of guards or passersby. He exited the storeroom and headed for the hospital, noticing the red-and-orange tinted Moon, glowing low on the horizon. The Sergeant grinned at the sight; it looked like Earth's unique satellite had colored itself in blood-like colors in anticipation of the chastisement awaiting the fag and the tart.

* * *

><p>Tim McGee's green eyes fluttered open and he sighed in contentment; he was lying naked on a comfortable bed of blankets in a quiet, semi-darkened, windowless room and he felt secure, at peace – a sentiment reinforced by the presence of a warm body lying next to him. Aimee was resting on one side, her right arm pillowing her head, apparently still sleeping off the effects of their previous lovemaking. A blanket had been partly tossed aside, exposing her strong back, the perfect skin gently glowing under in the soft light, the short golden hair crowning her head. She was beautiful, magical and the young man felt desire seizing him but, as much as he wanted her, he was too much of a gentleman and the thought of taking advantage of a slumbering woman to satisfy his sexual needs was simply revolting! No, he would wait until Aimee awoke and in the meantime, he would guard her dreams and make sure nothing would disturb her.<p>

He pressed his lips on Aimee's bare shoulder in the most respectful manner, and then, fearing she would be cold, he reached out for the crumpled blanked to cover her but the woman's hand gently fell on his arm, stopping his movement.

"Tim."

"Aimee?" asked the startled young man. He had been certain she was sleeping and the sound of her voice had surprised him.

She turned over and threw the blanket aside, revealing her nude body. Tim felt his heart starting to beat increasingly louder inside his chest: Aimee Wilkins was a feast for the eyes, plain and simple, and she was smiling at him with such tenderness he could have wept.

* * *

><p>Miller reached the hospital without any problems – apart from his leg which was starting to throb. It felt like he had overestimated the effects of his last opium pill but it was not possible to ask al-Hassan for stronger ones: the doctor was dead, strangled at the hands of the Sergeant. Al-Hassan had cauterized his wound two weeks ago, stating it had been the only way to stop gangrene, since the stitches were obviously not strong enough and Miller had yelped like a burned dog during the operation. Afterwards, he had required the entire lot of opium pills but al-Hassan had refused, saying he needed them for other patients stupid or desperate enough to ask for his help. Half-mad from anger, Miller had waited until the doctor had finished bandaging his leg and then, he had suffocated the greed out of al-Hassan – not a loss for humanity, though: who would regret an ex-Commie, opportunistic, drug-addict lousy doctor? But alas for the Sergeant, stocks of opium pills had been low and Miller was currently without an understanding practitioner. He had saved his medicine to the maximum but there was almost none remaining, which would soon bring up the problem to find painkillers without raising unwanted attention.<p>

His plight was all McGee's fault, of course; he was the one who had stabbed him with that monstrous blade! He was the one who had dared to resist rightful retribution in the showers! That disgusting little fag, who thought he could knife good honest people and get over with it, simply because he was the General's boy-toy! Miller grinded his teeth and hate flashed inside his grey eyes. He could not wait until he would scalp McGee – and maybe he would do it with the gigolo's own dark knife; it would only be justice!

Movements made the Sergeant hide behind a corner: two MPs were walking down a corridor, one with a bandaged hand while the other was telling him how lucky he had been to have come out of this scuffle with a violent Marine with only a gash on his palm. Miller noticed a door left ajar nearby; without hesitation, he entered a small room. It quickly revealed to be a closet filled with cleaning instruments and the Sergeant felt insulted – hiding in a broom closet was unworthy of a man of his stature, but he could not be seen wandering in the hospital and those blockheaded MPs would certainly ask him the reason of his presence here – as if they could not mind their own businesses!

Miller cast a furious glare at the corridor but the MPs kept on walking and talking, unaware of his presence. Soon, the echoes of their boots decreased in intensity and the Sergeant came out of his hideout, his resentment towards McGee and Wilkins increasing by the hundred. It was their fault he had been forced to hide in a smelly closet; just wait 'til he would extract them from their slimy love nest and kick the life out of them!

* * *

><p>Tim ran his hand on the firm curves of Aimee's hips and she stared hungrily at him, desire shining in her blue eyes like a flamboyant sun in a summer sky. They kissed as she rolled Tim onto his back, covering his body with hers. The contact of her nude frame caused the young man to moan softly; his hands caressed her haunches, the small of her back, her legs and Aimee kissed him deeply, devouring his mouth with a ferocity she had never felt before. God, she wanted this man!<p>

"Aimee…"

"Beloved, my beloved!"

Passion seized them as they kissed again, oblivious of their surroundings, the danger always too close and the whole world in general. Nothing existed but the heady contact of their naked skins, the beautiful sight of their bare forms, the incredible love they shared. Aimee regretfully left Tim's lips to explore at her heart's content the magnificent male body displayed on the nest of blankets; she caressed his strong chest, then his nipples until they became as hard as pebbles, smiling at the feeling of his quick breathing beneath her hands. Droplets of sweat ran along the narrow valley between his pectoral muscles and Tim shuddered in sheer pleasure from his lover's ministrations.

"Oh, my well-named…"

Adulation was lavished upon his flat belly, his long legs, and then his manliness. Entirely at Aimee's mercy and enjoying every minute of it, Tim cried in joy as an inferno burned inside his veins, fueled by the sweetest assault on his body. His heart beating like it wanted to escape from his ribcage, Tim gasped for breath; his head writhing back and forth against the blanket, he surrendered to madness, utter and glorious madness with a strangled shout, beautiful like a demigod discovering love.

* * *

><p>Sergeant Miller was nearing the staircase leading to the hospital's basement, when a voice made him stop dead on his tracks:<p>

"What are you doing here, Sergeant?"

Miller turned about and saw a nurse standing behind him, a clipboard in one hand and a severe frown on her face. The Sergeant's eyes widened and his blood turned into ice after he recognized the woman.

_Of all the rotten luck! Nurse Pritchard!_

She was the most feared nurse of the base, and could hardly be called a woman. With her bull-like neck, big shoulders, thick arms and massive legs, she was built like a tank and almost as strong as one. Her face was completely unfeminine and her piggy eyes, coupled with a large chin and thin-lipped mouth, gave her the appearance of a sow than of a woman's. She wore her dark hair in a bun, in a hopeless effort to dissimulate the thinness of the strands, and she loathed men above everything. Many have speculated the reasons of this hate but the general opinion was that Nurse Pritchard was embittered by her permanent failure in the sentiment field – apparently, she could not understand her barking-like voice and terrible temper had scared off potential suitors a long time ago – and she would pass her nerves by harshly reprimanding patients and nurse aids alike. However, Nurse Pritchard was not stupid enough to put herself in trouble with the doctors: her work was impeccable, she never shirked away from chores and she had volunteered to serve in Afghanistan, so she was a hard woman to dismiss.

"Er… I came to… I-I came to…" stuttered the Sergeant, scared witless by the formidable woman. She was not the kind to be impressed by his rank and Miller could hardly overpower her physically. Then, he remembered the conversation between the two passing-by MPs and a brilliant idea formed into his mind.

"I've heard that a Marine has been involved in a scuffle with MPs, and one of them even got injured. I wanted to see the wounded MP and give the troublemaker a piece of my mind about his attitude."

"You're too late, the MPs have already left – and the wound wasn't too bad, just a gash on the hand. As for the Marine, I already read him the riot act and he's not going to parade around anytime soon, boasting to his buddies about his world-famous exploits! I told him about his revolting actions and he was cowering under his bed sheets, scared witless like the disgusting little wart he is! In **my** days, you wouldn't have seen Marines fighting like hoods against MPs, I can tell you! But nowadays, there's no discipline – including in this base! It has gone to the dogs and nobody give a damn about it, that's simply scandalous!"

"But, Nurse…"

"And don't try to convince me otherwise, Sergeant!" interrupted the hulking woman. "I've served enough years in the Marines to see a shamble when I see one! What a military base need is discipline and there's only one good method to apply it: the whip, Sergeant!"

"B-B-But!" sputtered Miller in fright, realizing he was stuck in a corridor with a woman completely off her rockers.

"Yes, Sergeant! The whip! On every troublemaker's back and you'll see this base running smoothly! Drunkards, crybabies, skivers and the likes, they should feel the caress of the whip on their backs and you'll see them walking straight like tin soldiers. _Tin soldiers_, do you hear me? That's the problem nowadays, children are too cuddled – especially boys, and when they grow up they turn into softies or lazybones. But in the Marines, discipline must be applied, don't you agree?"

"Well, yes, but…"

"And no man should be spared; you cross the line, you get the whip, as simple as that! Wellington didn't hesitate using it on his troopers while fighting Napoleon during the Peninsula War, so why should we? It would stop the scandal reigning in this base, especially with those disgusting traffickers wrongly thinking they can run a little smuggling business within our walls!"

"What?" exclaimed Miller, feeling suddenly very ill at ease.

"Oh yes, I do know about those insolents who make a packet while dishonoring the proud uniform of the Marines, but they should watch out: I'll find them and crush them under my heel like ants! They ought to be behind bars! They should have the flesh flayed from their backs! They should be drummed out of ISAF in disgrace! They ought to be…"

Miller blanched at every word Nurse Pritchard was saying; not only she was unknowingly promising him hellfire and damnation, but the throbbing of his leg was steadily increasing. If this woman did not stop her ramblings pretty soon, the Sergeant may collapse in the middle of the corridor and it could place him in a very awkward situation!

* * *

><p>Aimee sighed in happiness as she cradled Tim's head against her heart; he kissed the splendid curves of her bust, relishing in the exquisiteness of her soft skin under his lips.<p>

"Oh, Tim…"

"I love you, Aimee. I. Love. You," said the young man, tracing the words across her bosom. It made her laugh, and then she kissed him in such an amorous way he felt like flying to the moon and back. He caressed her tenderly and her body bloomed like a flower under the sun, revealing beauty and marvels. Her blue irises disappeared almost completely as Tim gently explored her secret garden; mad with desire, she let out a cry of joy and carded her fingers in the young man's hair, never wanting him to stop the adoration of her femininity.

* * *

><p>Sergeant Miller walked down the staircase leading to the hospital's basement, livid with rage.<p>

The pox on Nurse Pritchard!

She had made him waste precious time and, if it had not been for a patient asking for help, she would have carried on her ramblings about corporal punishment for hours! After he had been surprised by that tigress, the Sergeant had no other choice than to walk out of the hospital by the front door, to make sure Pritchard would see him leaving the premises, and then sneak back inside the building once the coast was clear. All this wait and detours had not been easy on his leg and Miller had swallowed his penultimate opium pill, regardless of the risks the drug would somehow slow his movements. Besides, there was enough adrenaline in the Sergeant's body to counteract the effects of the opium!

This time, he was resolute in not letting himself being slowed down by a cow wearing a nurse's uniform or anybody else for that matter. Any fool standing on his way would be knifed in the gut, and that would be the end of it! No one messed with Kenneth Miller, no one!

* * *

><p>Moans and sighs echoing in a semi-darkened room.<p>

Hands locking together like iron.

Eyes darkening.

Bodies entwining.

Union.

* * *

><p>Once he had reached the green door, the Sergeant calmed down and a grin spread on his face; he was close to reaching his goal. Behind this particular door was a corridor, and then there would be another door bearing a sign saying: <em>'No admittance except medical staff'<em>. The fag and the tart's hideout was nearby, so he ought to get ready.

He put the FROG balaclava on his face, the gloves on his hands and clipped the Taser weapon on his belt; his gun was in its holster, ready to serve in case McGee and Wilkins would oppose a resistance; the condoms, brass knuckles and master-key were slipped inside his trousers' pockets. Silence reigned in the basement and Miller knew it was too early in the evening for the MPs to patrol here. He had everything he needed and he had the element of surprise: revenge would be his!

* * *

><p>Molten lava coursed through their veins.<p>

Desire roared within their loins, unleashing a primal energy that shook them at the core of their beings.

Bodies undulated in a graceful movement, the pace increasing at each heartbeat.

Spines arched; pleasure was decupled.

The act of love was overwhelming.

* * *

><p>Miller waited for a few extra minutes; as infuriating as it was to do so, his vast military experience had taught him that the closer the target was, the higher the risk was to commit a fatal mistake. Too often in the past, operations had been ruined out of impatience and Miller had to be absolutely sure there was no one lurking about in the basement; he could easily overpower naked and weaponless persons, but killing armed MPs was another matter!<p>

* * *

><p>Ecstasy.<p>

Sublimation.

Names endlessly chanted.

Marvelous sensations.

Ardent ripples going _crescendo_, decupling the sensuality of their embrace.

And then…

_**Culmination!**_

* * *

><p>Champing at the bit, Miller kept his ears open but no sound could be heard, not even – strangely – the usual ones produced by a rutting couple. Then, he remembered the door protecting McGee and Wilkins' dirty little secret was made of metal, more sound-proof than the standard ones.<p>

"_Ya thought ya would be safe and snug in your lovely pigsty, didn't ya?" _thought Miller hatefully._ "Ya'll see the errors of your way!"_

He tightened his grip on his gun, and fished out the master-key from his pocket, holding it like the key of his future success. Soon, very soon…

* * *

><p>Breathless, completely spent, Tim and Aimee collapsed back on the bed of blankets, holding one another as if their lives depended on it. Tremors still shook their bodies and their hearts were beating at a wild tempo, exhausted and exalted by the incredible fusion they had just experienced together.<p>

* * *

><p>Miller slowly approached the sign-bearing door. He grinned maniacally as he slipped the master-key in the lock; the device turned noiselessly inside the mechanism and a soft 'click' warned the Sergeant that the door had be opened. He turned the key inside the lock and, indeed, the door started to move on its hinges, revealing only darkness. Miller slipped his gloved hand through the narrow space between the door and its frame, and felt around until he found the toggle switch. As soon as the light was on, the Sergeant kicked the door open and yelled:<p>

"**SURPRISE!"**

But the momentum proved to be too hard for his wounded leg. Miller yelped in pain and fell on the floor, his thigh on fire. Panicking, he waved his gun in the general direction of where he supposed his victims were, and then his face paled under the balaclava.

The room was empty.

His eyes widening in both surprise and pain, the Sergeant looked around but there were no signs of McGee and Wilkins. In fact, there was not a trace of recent activity anywhere – only a stripped soldier's bunk, crates and boxes gathering dust in a corner, and an overturned chair, probably broken. The whole room reeked of abandonment and Miller sneezed from the dust bunnies covering the floor.

_They were not here. His intended preys were not here!_

But how could it be possible? He certainly had not made a mistake; he had spied McGee and Wilkins coming out of this room and he knew they would hide in here to fornicate!

_Maybe they had changed their minds, and renounced to copulate tonight?_

Ah! As if it was possible. McGee was a whore and Wilkins a bitch in heat; they would jump on any occasion to do the beast with two backs as free time was rare and precious at ISAF!

_Then, what?_

Well, the answer was simple; McGee and Wilkins had moved their love nest to somewhere else in the base, escaping their rightful punishment and making a mockery of his vengeance!

But their time would come soon enough; Miller had damaged his leg once again because of them, he had just one opium pill left and he could have been caught by the MPs or Nurse Pritchard! All his troubles were the fag and the tart's fault, and they would pay for it with their lives, Kenneth Miller would make sure of that! _Everything was their fault, his vengeance had been postponed, but they would leave Afghanistan in a body bag, both of them!_

But for the moment, there was a more pressing matter: getting the Hell out of here, right now!

* * *

><p>Aimee gently kissed the tip of Tim's nose, and murmured:<p>

"Beloved?"

"What is it, sweetheart?"

"You've had a wonderful idea."

Tim smiled at her; he had taken Stephenson's advice at heart about finding other discreet places for his 'conversations' with Aimee, and after a little search he had opted for the Logistics Support's archives room, right beneath the offices he was working in as a accountant. The archives were barely visited during the day and none at all by night, since their contents were usually considered uninteresting and a waste of space. But as a pseudo pencil-pusher, Tim had been entitled to have a key of the room and he had told Aimee to join him there. He had made up for the lack of a bed with blankets spread on the floor to lie on and Aimee had brought water and fruits for snacking.

"I'm glad you like it, sweetheart. I love you so much…"

"I love you too, my beloved."

They fell asleep in each other's arms, safe and secure in a room filled with old paperwork.

TBC…


	45. A dissimulation

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- Happy Easter, everyone! Enjoy the yummy chocolate! :oD

- Details about Marines recruitment come from Wikipedia.

- To Mr. Danish: thank you for your kind words!

- To Guest: I'm afraid I haven't seen the NCIS episode starring Tim's Dad, but I was certain the man would be a hard nut to crack. What kind of man doesn't speak to his son for seven years?

- To MinionOfTacos: I would gladly kick Miller out of the Marine Corps myself but alas, I need him for the story! ;-)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 45: A dissimulation<strong>

_One week later, at ISAF…._

Alone in his office, Stephenson was reading a letter for the tenth time. His usually calm, dignified expression had been changed by a severe mask, complete with a frown wrinkling his large brow as he was not pleased at all by the prose he was reading. In fact, he had been close many times to crumple the letter and threw it in the wastebasket like unwanted junk mail or, even better, to turn it into ribbons of paper after having fired up the shredder. Vance had told him about a piece of mail being sent via the diplomatic pouch and he would be sole judge to give it or not to McGee. The letter had arrived three weeks ago but, for the life of him, the General simply could not bring it to himself to deliver it to his young genius.

He had been warned by Vance that the letter would be from Leroy Jethro Gibbs, Tim's boss at NCIS and Stephenson had felt a bit remorseful at the thought of reading McGee's private mail. But he had overcome his scruples and read it nonetheless; it was more a written confession than a missive and the General had almost forgotten to breathe while reading it.

The letter's contents were revolting, plain and simple!

"_I've been kicking myself for not having talked to you before you left… Frankly, I wouldn't blame you if you don't want to hear anything from me anymore. I've been a lousy boss and an even lousiest teacher… I honestly thought Marine-like training was the only way to learn and it was a stupid move from my part: NCIS isn't boot camp…" _

That first paragraph was enough to make eyes pop out from sockets. McGee had been submitted to a Marine-like cadence since he had started to work with Gibbs? But what in the world had possessed Gibbs to act so stupidly? The kid was a _civilian_, for God's sakes! Sure, he was also a federal agent so he had to undergo a training after being recruited at NCIS, but it certainly could not be compared to what Marines had to endure and boot camp lasted thirteen weeks, whereas McGee had worked for Gibbs for more than seven years.

_"__I can't tell you how sorry I am to have let Tony, Kate and Ziva play mean pranks on you for years… your argument with Tony in the conference room showed me the errors of my way… Tony went too far, too many times and his disregard towards you reached its peak when he tricked you into not going to Iraq."_

That peculiar passage had made Alexander Stephenson grind his teeth in sheer anger. Doubtless the Tony, Kate and Ziva persons mentioned were Tim's co-workers and apparently, they got their jollies in hazing the kid while benefitting from Gibbs' indifference (or complaisance, whichever came first). It caused the General's blood to boil inside his veins: he damn well knew how it felt to be the subject of hazing. He had had his share in the past, from the day he had signed on the dotted line at the bottom of a form provided by the Marine Corps Recruiting Command. However, the younger Stephenson had been prepared for these humiliations; he had inwardly sworn to never let them discourage him from pursuing his career dreams and nobody, not even the hateful Drill Sergeant of the Marine Corps Recruit Depot in Parris Island, South Carolina had succeeded in doing so. As a result, Stephenson had developed a zero-tolerance policy towards hazing and the higher he had raised within the ranks, the fewer bullies had exerted their so-called superiority on rookies.

But for his Christopher… That had been another story. Stephenson had never once thought of treating his son like a recruit, harassing the kid until he would become a miniature version of himself; this very idea was outrageous! He had been proud of Chris since the first time he had felt him move beneath the skin of his mother's belly, and he had always encouraged him to become his own person. However, Chris had committed the ultimate crime of being smarter than his classmates and paid a high price for it – humiliations, hazing, personal stuff stolen from his locker, dirty pranks, insults in the lines of _'Your Dad's a jarhead and you're an egghead' _or _'You're a four-star zero, just like your old man'_ – and each time Chris had taken it in stride. The boy had not once complained to his parents or teachers, never mentioned the persecution, and refused to skip a school day… In fact, it had taken a slip of the tongue from one of Chris' teachers during graduation day for Stephenson to learn that his son had been his classmates' scapegoat for years.

The General had been shocked to the core of his being, and he had also felt immensely guilty towards Chris: he protected new recruits from harassment, and yet he had failed in sheltering his son from it! Chris had assured him it did not matter, that the hazing had been **his** battle to fight and he had wanted to spare his parents extra pressure, since his Mom's cancer was already taking away all their patience and courage. Amazed by the boy's iron will, Stephenson had embraced his Christopher in front of all the school, male pride be damned but he had also picked up his phone as soon as they had been home. Later, the bullies who had tormented his son learned the hard way that Christopher had a father with **connections**…

_"__I assumed Tony's hazing didn't affect you since you barely reacted…"_

"Well, you assumed wrong, Gibbs!" growled Stephenson between his teeth, talking to himself like every time he was particularly crossed. "Silent people suffer like the rest of humanity – they just have the dignity to not show it but with a minimum of intelligence, you could have deduced it in a snap! But I suppose you were too busy playing Office Drill Sergeant to bother with, eh? What do you know about dignity? What do you know about loyalty? McGee probably hoped against all odds that his teammates would earn enough maturity to stop their making fun of him, that's probably why he has never complained to you but the poor kid has finally realized he was fighting a losing battle: if an **adult** cannot comprehend that hazing is wrong, then said adult is a hopeless case and the only thing left to do for a decent person is to steer away from this pest as fast as possible."

_"__Tony would rather be devoured alive than admitting he could be wrong – and so do I, but I've been an __imbecile__…"_

"No contest here, Gibbs!"

_"__Tony and I are a pair of weaklings while you are a lion-heart, Tim. No matter how much crap you've received from your teammates and your boss, you never gave up and you became one of the finest agents of NCIS… I __do__ consider you as an excellent agent. I told you so before leaving for Mexico and I was sincere…"_

"Oh, yeah? Then why McGee was so eager to leave DC, his job and his home, to work for me, then?" asked the General in the silence of his office. "Probably because you gave the kid **one** compliment in seven years, and he didn't feel like waiting seven more years for another one. You've failed Leadership 101, Gibbs."

_"__Speaking of fools… Ducky (him again) told me you thought of yourself as the Jester of my court while Tony, Ziva, Ducky, Abby and Jimmy were showered with titles and praise. Oh, Tim, do you really think I have no respect for you?.. You're far better than the rest of us and, if I hadn't been an idiot, I would have made you feel welcome in my team instead of letting Tony play his ridiculous hazing game on you."_

"Oh yes, you should have done that, Gibbs! But then again, your loss is my gain."

_"__There's also the matter of Abby. She proudly wears her status of 'favorite' like a badge on her T-shirt and that's my entire fault; she took advantage of you and disregarded orders without a second thought, even if she damn well knew it would put you in trouble, and I've never reprimanded her, not once! What in the world kind of a Team Leader I am? Well, I'll tell you: a blind old fool one."_

"Now, who the Hell is Abby? What kind of woman could blind an NCIS Team Leader so much, he favorites her at the expense of a talented and efficient Special Agent? I've never imagined you as a Sugar Daddy, Gibbs! Or maybe you're just getting senile in your old days and she's trying to leech you out, just like those women who tried their luck on me after Clara passed away."

_"__The first case coming to my mind is the one involving Jethro the dog; people at NCIS have been scandalized by her attitude, but even more by my indifference towards your wounds… I gave a poor image of leadership and it has been a miracle you kept on working with me after this hellish day."_

Stephenson had no idea what had been the matter involving that Abby woman and a dog named Jethro, but it certainly had not been good for Tim. Apparently, He had been wounded by the dog and Gibbs had not handled the case too good to write:_ "Any other guy would have hurled his badge at my head before punching the lights out of me but you remained at your post, ready to do your job, like the courageous soldier you are."_

"I don't know what you've done to the kid, Gibbs, but God help me, I won't have any second thoughts in punching your nose and your favorite's if I ever found you've hurt him. And of course he's a courageous soldier, you imbecile! What did you think?"

_"__It's hard to admit having wronged you so much you'd rather work in a war zone rather than face your teammates, and it's my greatest failure. All I ask for is a chance to make it up to you but for that, you have to come home once your special project is finished…"_

"It's no wonder McGee would rather be in Afghanistan, if all he has as a Boss is a bullying, playing-favorite imbecile who loves so much the sound of his own voice, he has to yell all over the neighborhood!" commented Stephenson. "NCIS is a federal agency and yet, it sound more like a high school filled with bullies. I didn't expect less from Director Morrow: the guy was a go-getter interested only in getting a job at Homeland Security and he wouldn't have noticed a probationer being torn to shreds, provided the culprits didn't make too much noise. And Director Sheppard was an old flame of Gibbs, very convenient for sweeping embarrassing matters under the carpet – but I expected better from Vance. What on Earth has he been doing? I'd have given Gibbs and Co. the boot a long time ago!"

_"… __Tim, I consider you the same as Tony. I've been a complete flop at showing it and my clumsiness has chased you away, as you thought I had no respect you but, for the first time of your life, you drew the wrong conclusions. I __do__ respect you, Tim, more than you can ever imagine…"_

"Like Hell you do!"

_"__Vance is tight-lipped about your activities in Afghanistan but he's glowing with pride every Friday, right after stepping out of the MTAC room so I know you've been keeping them on their toes…. I cannot help but feel prideful too. That's my boy, working wonders wherever he is!"_

"Wrong again, Gibbs: he's **my** boy, and don't you think I'll let him go back to the USA without a glowing report about the way he handled his mission. And, knowing Vance, he'd be too happy to give the kid a promotion – right under the nose of Gibbs and his hazing accomplices. Boy, it'll be a thrill to rub their faces in the mud!"

_"…__Just keep his sound advice in mind, follow the instructions of General What's-his-name to the letter and you'll be home before you ever realize it. I don't know a thing about this General but Vance trusts him and it's good enough for me. Leon and I have our disagreements but he's not a fool, unlike me._

"Vance can be hardly called an idiot, Agent Gibbs. He's a man who knows his job and, unlike you, he can separate the wheat from the chaff. Too bad you were too busy doing whatever you were doing with that Abby woman to realize it!"

_"__Tim, please come back soon. I'll understand if you refuse to grant me a second chance but the most important thing for me is to see you back at NCIS, alive and well, with a well-deserved bright future ahead of you._

_(Signed)_

_Leroy Jethro Gibbs_

_a.k.a. the Old Fool"_

Stephenson threw the letter back on his desk with a gesture of disgust. Each time he read it, he felt like heading back to DC and demolish Gibbs' face with his bare hands. Old Fool, a perfect description! The perfect example of a man using military experience to bulldoze through his entourage once back to civilian life, without even realizing he was a disgrace to the uniform – just like McGee Senior. Stephenson remembered too well the conversations he previously had with the inebriated Admiral during cocktail parties and he had felt disgusted by the man's ramblings about his good-for-nothing son who should have been whipped into shape, regardless of his I.Q. and diplomas – the man was too dumb to realize he was giving a poor picture of the Navy while full of sauce and despising his own flesh and blood, and had earned Stephenson's eternal contempt. No doubts McGee's home life had been less than perfect, but the General had been stumped to learn the young man was enduring the same kind of disregard at work and from a former Marine and Gunnery Sergeant, on top of everything!

"From out of the frying pan into the fire, just like I've said to your Director, eh, kid?" said Stephenson sadly. "Well, I'll be damned if I let you go to DC without any kind of backup from me. Gibbs' days as your personal tyrant are numbered; as for your would-be co-workers, they will have a hard time mocking you after you've become _**their**_ Boss – in fact, they won't have any other choice than to resign or ask for a transfer, and good riddance! This world needs brains, not bullies and you'll be better off without disloyal teammates, anyway. Too bad I'd be too far away to give them a piece of my mind… I'd have loved to have a talk with that Tony fellow about the Iraqi business Gibbs mentioned!"

The General glared at the paper, barely resisting the urge to tear it into a million pieces. But it was not in Stephenson's prerogatives to censore Tim's mail, regardless of how despicable it was. Besides, Gibbs would not miss to mention this missive once the kid would be back at NCIS: clever-clogs McGee would realize in a snap that Stephenson had something to do with its disappearance and the General would be damned before he would lose the young man's respect. One could not blame Team Gibbs for their attitude towards McGee while hiding things from him, as well.

Sighing, Stephenson folded the letter in four and threw it in one of his desk's drawers. He would give it to McGee on his last day in Afghanistan, and justify his holding back from not wanting to distract him from The Watcher's problems. That way, McGee would remain focused on his mission to the end and be forewarned just before hoping in a plane about his Boss' remorse… provided it was sincere, of course, but the General had serious doubts!

* * *

><p><em>Meanwhile, at NCIS' MTAC…<em>

"The Watcher's been tested during fifteen patrols so far, in town and out in the desert, Sir," said Tim's image on screen to Director Vance, provided by a digital camera. "Each time, we've been able to find hidden caches of weapons, or to prevent attacks before they could happen. The casing is doing a good job in protecting the program from heat, dust and water but I'd like to test The Watcher in extreme conditions of use."

"What kind of extreme conditions?" asked Vance, a brand-new toothpick at the corner of his mouth.

"Sandstorms, thunderstorms, heat waves, sub-zero temperatures, dangerous grounds, crowds or buildings with possible electronic interferences: any situation that can be found in Afghanistan but also elsewhere, Sir. If The Watcher is going to be a success, then we can imagine it could be used in other countries to protect our troops but for that, we need to be sure it can adapt to any given environment."

"_If_ The Watcher is going to be a success? It's already a big hit, McGee!" exclaimed Vance.

"But it's too early to crow over a victory, Sir. So far The Watcher's working but I haven't confronted it to harsh weather conditions yet. We cannot afford the program to suddenly stop working because of a thunderstorm or a wi-fi connection somewhere, and leave American soldiers in the dark. I'm not presumptuous enough to pretend building an infallible device but I'd like The Watcher to be as reliable as possible."

Vance rolled the toothpick on his tongue at those words; the kid was speaking the truth: computers were fallible because their human programmers were, and the zero risk was a concept existing only in fiction books. Good for McGee to admit the limits of his intellect (even though Vance had a hard time imagining it) and for wanting to work on his computer program until he would be a hundred percent satisfied with it but, knowing the young man's notorious perfectionism, it could take ages and NCIS needed one of its best agents – one of its rising stars! — back in DC, where he belonged.

"I can understand your reasons, McGee. Are you ready to stay longer in Afghanistan, if needed?"

"I am, Sir."

Vance let out a sigh, making Sam the technician raise his eyes from his work. The Director was obviously upset at the thought of McGee staying abroad longer than planned and Sam knew it was partly because of that computer thingie the federal agent had concocted, but there was another reason and Vance was totally unaware of it… A reason that had been plaguing Sam ever since he had learned it.

"But, like I've previously said, I won't remain under General Stephenson's orders for the rest of my career, Sir!" added Tim quickly, a flash of worry shining in his green eyes. "I haven't forgotten who I am, or the agency – an undercover assignment cannot last forever, and it's a matter of time before someone from the Finance Corps will raise questions about a Lieutenant that has never existed in the first place. I just want to leave General Stephenson a program that has been thoroughly tested, so he'll be able to entrust it to military engineers for its full development."

"That's good to hear, McGee. I have to admit NCIS hasn't been the same since you left and I'll be happy to see you back at your desk, typing your fingers away on a keyboard."

"Thank you, Sir."

"Before I leave, I want to tell you this: someone from your team has asked to talk to you, and I have accepted the request."

Tim's eyes widened at the astonishing news; he had been certain Vance would be inflexible about keeping away his co-workers from MTAC during their weekly conversations that no-one would be able to force the entry – well, apart from Tony, who had probably used a subterfuge to enter the room. The Senior Agent was notorious for cracking locks and a Director's interdiction was certainly not enough to prevent Tony from boasting about his most recent exploits, especially in front of Tim.

"Who, Sir?"

"Agent David."

Like a cloud obstructing the sun, a shadow passed across Tim's face and the light in his emeralds dimmed somehow. Vance frowned at the sight and Sam looked away, embarrassed by this turn of events.

"With all due respect, Sir, I'd rather not talk with her."

"What?" exclaimed the Director, his toothpick nearly falling on the floor. "Are you sure? Agent David seemed very eager to talk to you; Doctor Mallard has personally assured me she has no malicious intents towards you and we can trust her discretion. I was ready to lift the ban as an exceptional favor to Agent David, even though it would have placed her in a difficult situation towards Gibbs and the rest of your team!"

"Then please don't, Sir. It's not worth the time and trouble. Frankly, I'd rather not receive any news from any of my teammates for the duration of my mission here. Please, just tell her that I understand and I wish her well, okay?"

Vance was a bit taken aback by McGee's refusal; 'resentment' was not his middle name and the Director could have sworn the young man would have been delighted to see Agent David and talk with her, and yet the mere mention of the woman's name was enough to upset him. That was odd, considering David had been the only one to wish McGee well – according to scuttlebutt – and Vance had been glad to learn there was at least one sensible member within Team Gibbs. But the Director respected his agents' wishes and if McGee preferred to avoid contact with David, then he would certainly not press the matter further on.

"Very well, I'll give her your message."

"Thank you very much, Sir. I'm sorry this has been brought to your attention and I hope you haven't wasted too much time on it. I'm closing now and rest assured we will talk again next Friday. Bye, Sam!"

"Bye," said the computer tech, raising a weak hand in salute but Tim was already gone from the screen, replaced by a rainbow image. Vance grumbled something between his teeth and, without a backward glance to Sam, he typed his code on the digital keyboard to open the sliding doors. As on cue, Special Agent Ziva David was waiting outside; she looked up as the Director exited MTAC, an impatient expression on her beautiful face but Vance cut short her hopes by saying:

"Agent McGee asked me to tell you he'd rather avoid contact with his teammates while he's in Afghanistan, Agent David. Now, get back to work."

Ziva's pained disappointment was quite terrible to witness, and Sam felt awful as the startled woman asked:

"WHAT? But, Sir… Tim doesn't want to speak with me?"

"Apparently, no. He only said that he understands and wishes you well, whatever that means. I have to admit being surprised by his decision, but we have to respect it – then again, it's not the pleasant memories he has about this peculiar workplace that could prompt him to keep contact with his colleagues, now, is it?"

"Sir, I do protest! I truly wanted to talk to Tim and…"

"Do not insist, Agent David. Agent McGee has expressed his wish to not be disturbed while working aboard so you'll have to wait like everybody else to earn the privilege to talk to him. As I've said, get back to work and help Agent DiNozzo in filing up those cold cases; he has done a lousy job so far and I won't stand for botched work, understand?"

"Butcher work? But what does meat has to do with…."

The sliding doors of the MTAC room thankfully closed, sparing Sam from the rest of the heated conversation between the stern-faced Director and the ex-Mossad assassin. But the tech did not feel relieved at all – in fact, guilt was eating him up. He knew why McGee would not talk to David: DiNozzo had boasted about him and the Israeli woman dating, and it had hurt McGee's feelings. Sam had been surprised at the news, though; he would never have imagined a strong, no-nonsense woman like David would be interested in a loudmouth like Gibbs' Senior Agent so he thought he had been wrong for a while, until he had decided to pay more attention to the gossips buzzing around the water fountain.

And, after a little probing, Sam had learned that DiNozzo and David were **not** an item. In fact, DiNozzo was relentlessly asking David for a date and the woman had flatly refused his proposals. Once, she had even threatened to use the Senior Agent as a target for knife-throwing practice if he did not change his behavior and David was not the kind of person to be underestimated, as Admiral McGee had learned the hard way.

Thus, Sam had reached the only logical conclusion: **DiNozzo had lied to McGee**. He had pretended to be involved with David whereas it was not true!

_Why?_

No matter, thought the technician while staring at the MTAC screens without actually seeing them. The main thing was, he had witnessed a blatant lie and he ought to tell someone about it, otherwise the consequences could be devastating for McGee.

_But who?_

Gibbs? Hardly, since he considered DiNozzo as his best agent and it certainly explained his leniency, considering the Senior Agent should have been reprimanded years ago for his callousness towards McGee. Gibbs would certainly take it badly hearing about DiNozzo lying and Sam was rather found of keeping the two hundred and six bones of his body intact.

David? Sam did not want to be responsible for DiNozzo's murder! Even if he begged the woman on his knees to not act harshly, she would be way too furious to listen to anything but her inclination to vengeance and bloodletting would bring no end of trouble for NCIS and its employees.

Sciuto? Not a chance! She was still furious after McGee about her suspension and she was holding him responsible for all her troubles. Sam was ready to bet she would rejoice at the news and state it was only poetic justice that her former lover had been upset by a story entirely made up by DiNozzo.

Doctor Mallard, then? But the old M.E. was absent; he had been asked to give a conference in New York and Sam did not feel like waiting for a week until Ducky's return.

_Oh, gosh! With whom could he could talk?_

And then, the solution flashed inside Sam's mind with the brilliance a signal flare illuminating a starless sky, in the form of a single name:

_Jimmy_.

TBC…


	46. An accommodation

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- The _Gossip Girl_ books are written by American author Cecily von Ziegesar (b. 1970); it was developed into a teen drama television series running from 2007 to 2012 (from Wikipedia).

_- The ass dressed in the lion's skin_ is a fable by Greek storyteller Aesop (c. 620–564 BC) with various versions, one of them penned by French author Jean de la Fontaine (1621–1695).

- To Guest: Ziva has been hurt by Tim's refusal to talk to her, and her reaction won't be nice once she learns the name of the culprit responsible for the situation.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 46: An accommodation<strong>

_The next day…_

James 'Jimmy' Palmer was sitting on the rooftop of the NCIS building, enjoying the sunshine of a surprisingly nice month of October. Halloween was only a few days away and future trick-or-treaters were looking forward to harvest a bounty of goodies, especially after the weather forecasters had predicted neither rain nor cold temperatures for their special night. Jimmy smiled at the thought that in a few years, he would take out his own kids for tricks or treats; they would be dressed in horrible costumes – thanks to their Dad's experience in gruesome sights and their Mom's talent as a seamstress – and then they would stuff themselves with sweets while watching horror movies on TV, before going to sleep after having checked nothing slimy or hairy was hiding under their beds. His adorable little monsters!

Chuckling lightly, Jimmy carefully opened his lunch box, containing delicious treats lovingly wrapped by his beautiful fiancée, Breena. He enjoyed those lunch breaks on the rooftop, even if technically this area was accessible only to security personnel. But Jimmy was working in a basement all day, dealing with corpses in different states of decomposition; after long hours of work, he enjoyed feeling the sun on his face to clear his mind from the horrors he witnessed every day. Doctor Mallard dealt with the stress by drinking cups of tea while talking about his past experiences but, even though Jimmy enjoyed his mentor's stories, he needed some fresh air to 'recharge his batteries' and he could not get it on the parking lot where it was noisy and filled with hydrocarbon fumes, or in the overcrowded city park next to the NCIS building. Ducky, always ready to indulge his young assistant, had talked to Director Sheppard and soon after, Jimmy had been granted free access to the rooftop under the express condition that he was not to mention this favor to any of his co-workers.

Jimmy had finished unwrapping his lunch and the smell emanating from the whole-wheat bread slices made him realize it was a salami, pickles, lettuce and tomatoes sandwich, his favorite kind! Bless Breena's heart! Salivating in anticipation, he was getting ready to dive his teeth into the yummy treat with the ferociousness of a shark when a voice made him freeze on the spot:

"Jimmy?"

Still agape, the assistant M.E. looked up and the sight made him widen his mouth even more: the person who had called out his name was Samuel Wilson, one of the computer technicians assigned to the MTAC room. Jimmy and he had passed each other in the corridors and, even though they had not socialized over a drink or the likes, they still had a pleasant working relationship based on their common denominator as 'geeks'.

"Sam? How did you know I was there?" asked the stunned M.E.

"Your sunbathing here isn't exactly a secret, Jimmy," said Sam with a half-smile. "A lot of people at NCIS know that you come here to chill out and they don't blame you; considering the ugly things you see every day, you deserve a little peace and quiet. Some ladies even say you ought to get a little suntan, otherwise you'll become as white as the morgue's walls and it'd scare your fiancée away."

"Really?"

"Yeah, so don't worry; your secret place is safe."

"Well, it's not a secret place anymore, now, is it? I really don't know how the other agents and employees have figured it out…"

Sam merely shrugged: "We work in a federal agency; everybody knows everything about everyone. We do investigations all the time, so call it a professional quirk to poke into our colleagues' lives – not to forget a very active rumor mill."

"I suppose you're right," said Jimmy, inwardly thinking privacy was definitively an alien concept within NCIS. "So, you came here because you needed some fresh air, too?"

Sam suddenly looked embarrassed and Palmer's eyes widened behind his glasses. Why would an innocent question upset him? He could certainly understand the tech longing for the skies: spending hours locked up in a windowless room filled with computers would be enough to develop a massive case of claustrophobia and Sam probably wanted to see the sun elsewhere than on a screensaver.

"No, it's not because of that… Er, can I join you?"

"Of course! I always enjoy some company," answered the eager Jimmy. He gestured his impromptu guest to sit next to him and Sam lowered himself on the rooftop's ground with a preoccupied look on his face.

"Do you mind if I keep on eating?" asked the young man while pointing at his lunch.

"Please carry on; I'd hate to interrupt your banquet."

Jimmy took a big bite out of his sandwich; hmm, delicious! Brianna was definitively a chef: she could make the blandest food taste fabulous simply by adding vinegar, pickles, spices but her main ingredient was the love she felt towards her favorite doctor. She had made it a purpose in life to make sure he was well-fed, as she was obsessed with eating healthy. Breena had too often seen friends or relatives becoming fat from lack of exercise and junk food overindulgence, and she had sworn to never fall in this trap. Jimmy was certain she would never let their future kids stuff themselves with potato chips while glued in front of the TV and somehow, he found that thought reassuring; he was a firm believer in encouraging children to play outside, read books and do artistic activities instead of letting them watch an electronic device filling their heads with images of violence.

"'Ow 'bout you? You don't eat?" asked Jimmy around a mouthful of lettuce and tomatoes.

"Nah… Not hungry."

In normal circumstances, the young M.E. would not have insisted; years of dealing with Gibbs' brusqueness had taught him to not press his luck with uncommunicative persons. However, Sam was not a silver-haired federal agent with the patience of a boiling tea kettle; he was a guy preserving ultra-secured communication lines and scrutinizing encrypted data to find information about terrorists. This kind of job required patience, meticulousness and concentration and short-tempered guys needed not to apply. Besides, Sam looked like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders and Jimmy could not help but feel a twinge of sympathy towards the man.

"What's wrong, Sam? You're having problems?"

"In a twisted kind of way, yes – that's why I sought you out. I'm in a dilemma and I kinda hoped you could advise me."

Jimmy put down the rest of his sandwich back inside his lunch box, stunned beyond words. Sam wanted _**his**_ advice? He was asking for the opinion of a nervous, geeky, soon-to-be doctor and heir of the respected Doctor Donald Mallard? The world had gone mad!

"M-Me? You want _**me**_ to advise you?"

"Don't look so surprised," said Sam with a chuckle. "Not everybody at NCIS considers you as an irritating M.E. assistant who should make himself scarce every time a certain ex-Marine shows up asking for results. You're a doctor and you make a damn good job down at the morgue, a place no one wants to work at and it entitles you to some respect."

"Wow, that's quite incredible to hear; apart from Doctor Mallard, I've thought for sure that no-one would see past from the scrawny kid with the funny face, who is actually interested in dead bodies and can talk about dissections all day along! No wonders I'm nicknamed The Gremlin: those creatures have thin frames, ugly mugs, they laugh maniacally at things that are not funny and they enjoy death and destruction. A description that fits me like a glove, unfortunately," added Jimmy a bit sadly.

"Well, I **do** respect you, and I really don't care about silly nicknames," said Sam firmly. "Maybe you were a bit overenthusiastic in the beginning, but you've made great progresses over the years and I don't think Doctor Mallard would've kept you around if you weren't competent. We are professionals putting our skills in common to solve crimes, we live under constant pressure from terrorists' threats and we're not allowed to make mistakes; so if someone cannot see beyond your facade, then they're only fools unworthy of your time."

"Thanks, Sam. It's nice to know I'm appreciated in the upper levels. What is it you want my advice for?"

The computer tech sighed deeply, causing Jimmy's worry to increase a few notches.

"It's about Team Gibbs – or, to be precise, one of its members."

It was Jimmy's turn to frown; the young man was not exactly on speaking terms with any member of this particular team. After Tim had left for Afghanistan, he had avoided the remaining trio of agents like the plague since he would have a hard time to not knock their heads off, regardless of their fighting abilities. Jimmy was not of the muscular kind but he had never backed off in front of the many bullies he had encountered in his life! But Doctor Mallard had called to his moderation so Jimmy had opted for retreating into the morgue, keeping contact with Team Gibbs to the minimum (apart from Agent David) and counting the days until Tim would return.

In fact, this situation would have been carried on for the duration of McGee's mission if it had not been for the incident involving Abby and Doctor Mallard: seeing her shoving away his mentor had been the last straw and Jimmy had climbed the stairs four steps at a time to give the Goth woman a piece of his mind, regardless of her being protected by Gibbs. Jimmy's outburst had caused a bit of a shock in the bullpen but Ducky's quick intervention had ended it before it could do some real trouble. Later, the elderly M.E. had praised his assistant for his loyalty but he had also made it clear that further scandals could only damage Gibbs' career, already in the line of fire with a demoted Senior Agent, a recently-suspended forensic scientist and a Special Agent preferring a war zone to his usual workplace. Doctor Mallard had reminded that Agent Gibbs was a long-time friend and he would rather not see him being kicked out of NCIS because of a silly incident involving him. Jimmy had protested, saying the incident was nothing but silly but, out of respect towards Ducky, he had finally accepted to let the matter drop.

"Which member?"

"DiNozzo," confessed Sam, rubbing his hand on his face.

"What has he done now? I swear, since Tim has left for Afghanistan, DiNozzo seems resolute in winning the Most Stupid Federal Employee of the Year Award!" said Jimmy hotly. "He has been demoted to a Junior Agent's status for six months after his session with the review board and yet, it doesn't seem to have calmed him down. He's still the obnoxious, loudmouthed and all-around annoying pest everyone knows and avoids!"

"Yes, well, it's more than DiNozzo being the bullpen's unfunny clown. It's worse than that, and it's about Agent McGee. Can I count on your discretion?"

His lunch forgotten, Jimmy reached out and placed his hand on Sam's shoulder as a gesture of comfort, but also of concern. He liked Tim and he had been crushed learning about his departure for one of the world's most dangerous war zones. Tim had assured he would be safe during his mission but if DiNozzo had done something up one way or another, then McGee could be in serious trouble and his teammates would be powerless to help him, not with thousands of miles and an ocean separating them.

"Please tell me, Sam."

"Beforehand, I want you to promise me you won't rush downstairs and punch DiNozzo on the nose right after I've told you what he has done. It's a very serious matter, and we need to tread very carefully or the whole thing could very well explode at our faces."

"All right, I promise not to act rashly – regardless of whatever you'll tell me."

Sam took a deep breath, and then he got everything off his chest.

_DiNozzo ambushing Sam at MTAC, right after Director Vance had finished his weekly meeting with McGee._

_DiNozzo coercing Sam to let him inside MTAC, while the communication with Afghanistan was still running on the screen._

_DiNozzo boasting and gloating in McGee's face while Sam was silently watching from a corner of the room, aghast from the Senior Agent's attitude._

_DiNozzo's impatience at McGee's indifference; then, his flooring declaration about him and Agent David being a couple!_

_McGee looking obviously upset at those news, and yet keeping his dignity to the end, even wishing both of them well._

_DiNozzo leaving MTAC, with promises of Hellfire and punishments if Sam would dare to utter a word about what had just transpired._

Jimmy was livid with rage; he had not felt that angry since he had seen Abby pushing away Doctor Mallard during her tantrum with Richard Peterson, and only his promise to Sam stopped him from running to the bullpen and confront Tony about his past actions. The nerve of Tony! Forcing his way into MTAC by threatening a fellow employee! Telling blatant lies at Tim's face! And, last but not the least, making a mockery of Director Vance's orders, who had specifically said that **no one** at NCIS was allowed to talk to Tim while he was abroad. That was a blatant act of disobedience!

Jimmy was beginning to see red from Tony's disregard towards other people; in the early days of his collaboration with Team Gibbs, he had thought the Senior Agent's attitude funny – acting as he pleased and not giving a damn about consequences. But Ducky had reminded his young assistant (kindly and yet firmly) that 'Anthony' behaved exactly like a movie star: all smiles and confidence under the spotlights, to hide an inner frailty that resurfaced at the slightest irritation. This was not the attitude expected from a federal agent who was supposed to hide in the shadows, work efficiently and expect no official acknowledgement for his or her hard work. Anthony, had said Ducky, lived in constant fear of being forgotten, that was the reason why he monopolized everyone's attention – regardless of the fact it could hurt people close to him in the process – and his insecurity would bring him into great trouble one day.

"_Well, that day has come, I'm afraid,"_ thought Jimmy, his eyes darkening in anger behind his glasses. His face had turned as hard as stone and Sam was getting worried by the sudden transformation of the assistant M.E.

"Jimmy?"

"I just can't believe what you've said, Sam, I just can't believe it! Whatever possessed Tony to act so stupidly, for God's sakes?"

"I don't know, Jimmy. For a second, I thought DiNozzo was missing McGee and he desperately wanted to talk to him… Boy, talk about naïve! As soon as he saw McGee on screen, DiNozzo started to denigrate his looks, his mission in Afghanistan and then he stated they were doing fine without him. What a liar! Team Gibbs has been benched since McGee walked away and their situation has taken a turn for the worst after Sciuto was suspended for an extra six weeks."

"That was unforgivable, Sam; Tony had no rights to push you around and to threaten you. But why didn't you report this incident?"

Still seated on the rooftop's ground, Sam raised his eyes towards the younger man: "It's _**DiNozzo**_ we're talking about, remember? Gibbs'_** adopted son**_, the perfect NCIS agent, unsurpassed lady's man, cream of the crop, the only real professional in this building! The one who cannot do anything wrong, just like Sciuto, so what could I do? Go to Gibbs and tell him the spitting-image-of-him-when-he-was-young has disobeyed direct orders just to gloat in McGee's face? Yeah, right! As if Gibbs would listen to a geek like me! It would have taken him about three seconds before he'd glare and tell me to go back to the MTAC room where I belong, instead of wasting his valuable time – you know damn well he cannot stand criticisms towards DiNozzo or Sciuto; he's unable to accept his two pets can act wrongly, not even if he were presented CCTV evidence."

"What about Vance?"

"I have no material proof of what I witnessed, no recording or anything and he's not the kind of guy to launch an investigation on hearsay – besides, I hated the idea of ratting DiNozzo out. Warn McGee? But the only time I see him is during his Friday meetings with Vance and then he cuts the link right after the Director walks out of the MTAC room. Besides, McGee is way too professional to ask Vance about the current office romances. Tell David? She'd as soon cut DiNozzo to ribbons before I'd finish talking, and we need another incident in the bullpen like being bashed over the head with a hammer! Gibbs' and DiNozzo's sessions in front of the review board haven't been good publicity for NCIS."

Jimmy grabbed an apple in his lunch box and munched on it noisily while thinking hard about Sam's reasons for keeping quiet. Unfortunately, the computer tech was right on all accounts: reporting to Gibbs about Tony's actions would have been as efficient as talking to a brick wall; Vance would have wanted solid proof before taking disciplinary actions against DiNozzo; Ziva's short temper would have worsened the situation and, on top of everything, Sam did not want to be labeled a whistleblower: this kind of designation lasted for life and could ruin a career. Jimmy could not help but feel sympathetic towards the computer tech carrying a heavy burden simply because he was at the wrong place and at the wrong time: not an easy situation, especially when someone as uncompromising as Leroy Jethro Gibbs was involved!

"Why do you say Ziva would cut Tony to ribbons?"

"Because they're **not** a couple!" said Sam firmly.

Jimmy let the apple score fall on the floor, out of stupefaction at the news: DiNozzo had **lied** about his relationship with David?

"WHAT? Are you sure? But I thought… He and Ziva always seem to flirt with their heavy sidelong glances, their sweet-and-sour comments, plus the fact they're partners out on the field…"

"Yes, but hear me out: I got confirmation from the rumor mill and also from a friend of mine who works at Accounting. She's the local Gossip Girl and she knows romances before they even start. According to Nancy, my friend, DiNozzo has asked David out only recently. In fact, he has started just a few weeks ago, right after his little stunt in the MTAC room but David has refused his advances – in fact, she's getting very annoyed by his insistence and she has promised him bodily harm if he kept on asking her for a date. Plus, there's also the notorious fact that Gibbs doesn't encourage office romances – that's against his rules or something – and woe to the agent who dares to challenge him!"

"Then why on Earth did Tony say otherwise? Why did he lead Tim up the garden path?" asked Jimmy, completely at a loss about the Senior Agent's behavior.

"My best guess?"

"By all means."

"DiNozzo told those lies in a try to demoralize McGee," said Sam. "My father fought during the Viet Nam war and he told me about the importance of keeping soldiers' spirits up so they would stay focused and ready for action. The higher powers spared no expenses in inviting politicians, entertainers, movie stars to speak with soldiers but the best moral support is receiving good news from loved ones at home. My father said he had seen more than once soldiers devastated after learning of their sweethearts dumping them, their wives filing up for divorce or the death of a parent and being too far away to attend the funeral. He said those guys were more likely to commit fatal mistakes while on patrol, because they were shattered by those bad news and they had a hard time concentrating on their immediate surroundings."

"I can't believe Tony would deliberately lie to Tim so he'd end up in committing mistakes!"

"Why not? It's not the first time DiNozzo has mislead McGee; everybody in NCIS knows about the bad trick he played for a mission in Iraq! DiNozzo is jealous of McGee; he hates the idea of the guy being so successful in Afghanistan _without him_ so he'd go at any lengths to make McGee think he's unimportant to the team. But who would stand up against DiNozzo? He's Gibbs' heir and it gives him a cloak of invulnerability that nothing can shake off from his shoulders, not even a review board session."

Jimmy swallowed the last remnants of the apple inside his mouth, remembering a story Ducky had told him: it was a fable penned by French poet Jean de la Fontaine, about an ass finding a lion's skin and deciding to wear it to frighten other animals. It worked to the perfection until one long ear poked out of the skin, revealing the ruse and prompting the ass to return to his duties at the mill. _"__In France, the men are not a few / Of whom this fable proves too true / Whose valor chiefly doth reside / In coat they wear and horse they ride" _concluded the poet. Ducky had explained the moral of this story was that fools often employed an 'armor' to hide their shortcomings, but the subterfuge rarely lasted for long.

"And, in the case of DiNozzo, the armor in question is Gibbs' unfaltering protection. It doesn't stop Tony from being an ass!" grumbled Jimmy between his teeth.

"What are you saying?"

"Hunh? Oh, nothing relevant. Just one more question, Sam: what are you gonna do?"

"I'm damned to Hell if I know, Jimmy. Should I keep quiet, or should I say something? Gibbs is a dangerous man to mess with, and I'm afraid David won't react nicely if she ever learns of what had happened at MTAC. But I don't want to learn about McGee's demise in Afghanistan, either! You should have seen his reaction after DiNozzo told him about his fake romance with David: McGee was crushed; it was as plain as the nose on his face but you know the guy, he's not the kind to complain. But what if he's mulling dark thoughts about this, and he feels so down it breaks his concentration during a fight? What if he volunteers for a suicide mission and get killed in the desert, simply because he was convinced nobody was waiting for him at home? We know his parents are blockheads and his Team Leader doesn't have the highest regard for him, so what McGee has left? Nothing, not even the friendship of his teammates: DiNozzo mocked him, David is supposedly in a relationship and don't make me start with Sciuto!"

Sam got up on his feet, looking discouraged as he said: "I hate the idea of McGee's head being filled with lies while I'd stay mute in the background, like a _"Don't get involved"_ dummy. I **want** to say something; I just don't know **to whom** to say it and it's driving me crazy! That's why I sought out for your advice, Jimmy; you know better than I about Team Gibbs' inner mechanisms."

The young assistant M.E. thought about it long before answering. Sam deserved credit for his scruples: a lesser man would have conveniently forgotten all about the 'Tony incident'; a coward would have kept his mouth shut out of fear of consequences. But he refused to let a lie potentially destroy McGee, even miles away from DC as he damn well knew DiNozzo would never confess having lied. However, finding someone to listen to Sam's story proved to be quite difficult: Gibbs, Vance, Ziva, Abby… All of them were either too stubborn or too violent to lend a sympathetic ear to the computer tech's plight. Apart from…

"Ducky!" exclaimed Jimmy.

"Doctor Mallard? Why are you mentioning him?"

"He's the one who could unlock the whole situation! Doctor Mallard has a lot of life experience and he's quite aware of how painful it is to be burdened with a secret and not being able to talk about it; he knows Agent Gibbs for years and he's the only one who can convince him to let you talk without interrupting you every five seconds or so. And he can also prevent Gibbs from getting all high and mighty after you tell him about Tony sneaking into the MTAC room to tell tall stories to McGee."

"You think so?"

"I'm sure of it. Doctor Mallard isn't the kind of guy to let Tony get away with it as his lies could have terrible consequences for Tim; the old man has seen too many lives being cut short at the morgue and he would be devastated if anything should happen to McGee in Afghanistan. Doctor Mallard can boast about being the only person who can make Gibbs listen to reason and he won't let him threaten you for telling a truth he doesn't like. I've often compared him to a safety brake to be pulled in case of emergency, like when Gibbs gets completely out of control!"

"And then, what will happen? Gibbs will never forgive me if this matter is ever brought to Vance's attention and it destroys DiNozzo's career."

"It probably won't come to this end; knowing Gibbs, he'd probably read Tony the riot act in the elevator just before making him confess his deception to Tim – provided you'd arrange to let them use the MTAC room for five minutes and no one would be the wiser. That way, Ziva won't scalp Tony; Abby won't scream across the bullpen that Tim deserved to be lied to; Director Vance won't fire the entire team and you will not have to carry this unwanted burden. How about that?"

"Sounds great, Jimmy, but isn't Doctor Mallard away for the moment?"

"You're right; he's in New York City for the moment, but rest assured he won't linger. It hurts to say it, but Ducky's getting old and he longs for his house and his bed – travelling has lost all its interests for him. He told me before leaving that he'd rather have given his speech via webcam than taking a plane and stay in a hotel; but for some reason the event's organizers wanted him around, probably to give him an award or something at the end of the conference. But like I've said, he'll hop in a plane back to DC at the first occasion and I won't be surprised if he comes back to work a day or two earlier than planned – which is just as well. I'll tell him about you wanting to talk and we'll arrange a discreet meeting at the morgue. Almost no living beings go down there so we will have the place to ourselves. Don't be afraid to pour out your heart to Doctor Mallard: he's a good man of sound advice and he'll help you. Do you agree with this plan?"

"You bet!" exclaimed Sam, genuinely relieved at the thought of finally being able to talk about his secret to someone in authority, a person who could truly rein Gibbs in without having to involve Director Vance.

The two men sealed their deal by sharing a homemade chocolate cupcake baked by Breena, and then Sam smiled and said:

"You're a good man of sound advice too, Jimmy!"

The assistant M.E. munched harder on the pastry in a vain attempt to hide the blush spreading on his face.

TBC…


	47. A collusion

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- A _lungee_ is a traditional turban in Afghanistan (from Wikipedia).

_- Incognito_, from the Latin _incognitus_ ("Unknown") means being in an assumed character or title.

_- Nemesis_ (from the Greek word _némein_ meaning: "To give what is due") was the goddess of retribution. It became a synonym for "archenemy".

- To None: your suggestion is very 'gutsy' but I would rather not write a chapter involving entrails! xD

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 47: A collusion<strong>

_Two days later, in Kabul…_

Sergeant Kenneth Miller was not a happy man.

He was walking down in the streets of Kabul, wearing long white robes over his uniform and a striped grey _lungee_ wrapped on his head, using one long end to cover his face as if he was protecting it from the sand wind that had been blowing over the town all day. A part of Miller's brain was worried about catching a disease by breathing through the smelly cloth or being bitten by fleas, but he could not be fussy about his wardrobe: he had 'borrowed' it right after having spotted a man who had the misfortune of being the same size as his, and knocking him out in an dark alley behind a crowded marketplace; disregarding his victim's bloodied head, he had stripped him quickly and efficiently and donned the clothes to walk _incognito_ in the capital. Miller was in need of opium pills and this kind of errand obviously could not be done while wearing proudly the uniform of the US Marines Corp. So after a little mugging, he had acquired the necessary disguise to search for a provider of illegal medicine without being bothered by busybodies MPs or Afghani police officers.

Miller had a third reason to illegally wear an Afghan costume: it was notoriously unsafe for a US soldier to roam the streets of Kabul alone, and the Sergeant was scared half to death of being targeted by terrorists who would kidnap him, and then post the video of his execution on the Internet. He was armed and he was a skilled fighter but assailants would inevitably have the upper hand, thanks to a vast knowledge of Kabul's topography, a fanatical thirst for American blood and a population too terrified to provide any kind of help. Miller was not keen on adding his name to the list of executed hostages and so, he had opted for an impromptu operation of camouflage.

So far, it had been the only successful part of his errand. Constantly jolted by the crowd, sweating abundantly under his costume, suffocating from the dust, Miller's search for a discreet opium dealer had been fruitless and he was running out of time. The Sergeant was supposed to be back at ISAF in two hours but he could not carry on with his duties with his leg constantly aching.

_Damn McGee and Wilkins! It was their entire fault!_

Miller's eyes darkened as he remembered his foiled attempt to surprise the boy-toy and the bitch copulating in the basement: the fall he had sustained had awakened the pain on his tight, and he had survived one week of Hell with analgesics stolen from the hospital. But the late Doctor al-Hassan's pills had a secondary effect: they were addictive, and the Sergeant carved for a whole box of this delicious medicine. Miller was convinced it would erase the pain and also sharpen his mind, giving him more ideas for his vengeance on McGee – it would stop the trembling, too: since he had swallowed the last of his opium pill, he had been suffering from withdrawal and shaky hands would give away his condition sooner or later. Just a little dose per day, and Miller would be in the clear…

…. Provided to find a seller, of course, and things did not look good; constantly harassed by the police, the drug dealers had moved away to the most dangerous neighborhoods, giving Miller no other choice than to go deeper in his undercover operation. Over the years, he had learned a few words of Pashtu and his latest contact – a twelve-year-old boy with sad eyes – had told him about a possible supplier in the blacksmiths' street. Miller did not have the intention to buy his pills, though – just gain them at gunpoint, disappear in the crowd and then dump the disguise in the vicinity of ISAF.

With the constant noise of hammers banging on metallic surfaces, it was not difficult to find the smoke-filled, narrow, soot-covered street where blacksmiths had their shops. Miller grumbled a few choice words at the thought of having to do business with low-life scum, but desperate times called for desperate measures. A few more steps, and…

Someone roughly grabbed him by the arm and pulled him in a smelly but discreet corner of the street; before Miller could realize what was happening, he was flattened against a dirty wall, a hand squeezing his throat vice-like and lifting him up from the ground.

"Hey! What the heck…" squeaked the Sergeant, but a hard voice interrupted him.

"Shut up, you fool, or I'll cut your tongue out, **got it**?" growled his aggressor, a tall man also dressed like a native. In spite of the pressure on his throat, Miller opened his eyes wide at the sound of the American voice: he had never imagined a compatriot could be dwelling in the slums as well. He tried to reach for his gun under his robes but the tall man slapped his hand away, making the weapon fly away in the shadows. Miller groaned in desperation as the assailant tightened his hold:

"Don't ever try to outsmart me, scum, d'you hear? You'd not have a chance in Hell to win, anyway."

"I-I don't h-have any money…" whispered the Sergeant while futilely trying to pry the hands from his throat.

"Shut up and listen to me attentively. I don't care about your cash; what I want is info and you are going to give it to me, **got it**? We can do it the hard way or the easy way: hard, you try to scream for help and I'll snap your neck like a twig, with no one around to help you. Easy, you and I have a nice chat over tea and I'll let you go back at ISAF on your two feet. So, what's it gonna be?"

"Info… about… what?" managed to croak Miller.

"About a man. His name's McGee."

This time, Miller's grey eyes nearly popped out from their sockets, but not from the strangulation he was currently enduring: the brute wanted information about his personal _nemesis_?

"McGee?"

"So, I take it you know him."

"Y-Yes, b-but w-why?"

"That's for me to know and for you to find out. So, easy or hard?"

"Easy," said Miller, with a gurgle imitating a clogged-up toilet bowl. His survivor's instincts had kicked in full gear and he recognized a losing fight when he saw one. He had been taken by surprise, his handgun was gone and the assailant was much stronger than him, a situation he feared above all. Miller simply hated situations where he did not have the upper hand: they tended to ruin his 'tough' image and so, he avoided them as much as he could.

"Good! Now, let me explain what we'll do: I'm gonna release your throat, you'll walk in the direction of that café", said the man with a movement of his large chin towards a coffeehouse across the street. "You get a place to sit down and keep quiet; I'll be right behind you and any attempt of escape will be sanctioned by a bullet in the back – and rest assured no-one around will lift a little finger to help you. **Got it?**"

"Yeah," muttered Miller. The brute roughly shoved him into the street; Miller hid his face with his _lungee's_ cloth again and he walked to the café where patrons were busy drinking coffee or tea, listening to loud music, smoking from water pipes or play chess and backgammon. A cathode-tube TV fixed on the top of a closet was constantly displaying news while the men talked their heads off about the war or tribal disputes. The air was filled with smoke but Miller doubted it came only from cigarettes; in fact, the smell was a mix of tobacco, cannabis and opium, making the Sergeant wish once more for his 'medicine' in spite of his predicament.

He noticed an empty round table in a corner of the coffeehouse and sat next to it, keeping his head low for he did not want the patrons to stare at him. He was trembling not only from his drug withdrawal, but also from the recent attack and he hoped his aggressor would be satisfied by the information Miller was ready to provide him. Otherwise, he would be killed on the spot and the Sergeant had never imagined an outstanding soldier like him could meet his end in a flea-infested hole in the wall, in a war-torn country and while wearing a disguise. His reptilian brains were telling him to obey the brute unconditionally in order to survive; besides, data about McGee in exchange of the Sergeant's life was not a bad deal – even though US Marines were not supposed to give information to anyone under any circumstances, but Miller was not a man noted for his moral rectitude.

His assailant entered the coffeehouse and sat down in front of him, with only the small round table to separate the two men. A teenaged waiter came, holding a metallic tray; the brute grumbled a few words in Pashtu and the youngster scurried in the direction of the kitchen to place the order.

"In case you're wondering, I've asked for coffee," said the man with an evil smile on his thin lips. "And in case you want to play the hero, in the lines of throwing the hot coffee at my face, let me tell you that I'm holding my gun under the table and it is aimed at your abdomen. Any funny attempt will turn you into a eunuch, **got it**?"

"Yes, **got it**!" answered Miller, getting annoyed by the repetition. "But you still haven't told me who you are and why you want information about McGee!"

"Name's Butler. So, what can you tell me about the man?"

Miller racked his brains but for the life of him he could not remember anyone named Butler was working at ISAF. Besides, the mysterious man did not look like a Marine: his attire was worn down, he could speak Pashtu fluently and he blended in the crowd much better than the Sergeant did. Apparently, he was used to stroll about the streets of Kabul without fearing for his safety, meaning he had contacts in the place and was well-armed.

"_A mercenary, probably," _thought Miller._ "A guy selling his services to the highest bidder and spies on anyone provided the money is good. I'd better watch out!"_

"Don't make me wait," growled Butler.

"Okay!" said the panicking Sergeant. "Look… McGee has been at ISAF only for a few months. He's an accountant for Logistics Support. That's all!"

"The last guy who tried to pull my leg literally got his pulled out from his kneecap. Do you want yours to acquire its freedom, as well?" asked Butler while the menacing sound of a gun's safety catch being taken off could be heard from under the table.

"No, no! Listen… The guy's also a weakling, because he's a fag! He's General Stephenson's boy-toy; he's having 'private sessions' with the old man at his office frequently, and always by night. All this is kept under the carpet, of course, but I've managed to outsmart the General!"

Butler let out a small sound which suspiciously resembled to a chuckle but, before Miller could be vexed, the waiter came back with the order. The two Americans kept quiet as the teenager served coffee and left with a handful of coins left by Butler on the round table, without adding a word.

"So, McGee's an accounting homo. What else?" asked Butler once the waiter was out of hearshot.

"Stephenson's showering him with favors: champagne, chauffeur, a Humvee vehicle all for himself, and also grants him an escort every time he leaves ISAF."

"Often?"

"Several times per week; McGee never leaves the base alone, or on foot."

"And where does he go? In town?"

"In Kabul yes, but also in the desert; I don't know if he visits other towns – not that there's much sight-seeing to do in this God-forsaken country, anyway! And Stephenson would have a hard time explaining why he assigns good soldiers for the protection of his gigolo."

"How 'bout inside the base? What does McGee do?"

"Nothing interesting! He works on figures, types on a laptop from dusk 'till dawn and talks to no one at Logistics", answered Miller, deliberately omitting the part about Captain Wilkins. He did not need the embarrassment about the woman granting her favors to a prostitute rather than to him. "He keeps his computer with him all the time, apart from going to the mess hall. He even takes the laptop during his field trips or to the garage, when he's working on his Humvee!"

Butler remained silent for a minute, as if he was thinking hard about something; a man in Miller's perilous situation would have seized the occasion to take a look at his surroundings and elaborate an escape plan but, disconcerted by the man's attitude, the Sergeant seemed unable to do anything intelligent. After a while, betrayed by his nerves, he managed to stutter:

"I-I've told you a-anything I know about McGee. Can I g-go back to the base, please?"

"No, you can't, **got it**?" growled Butler back, his eyes as hard as stones. "And don't try to be a smart aleck, I know enough to have you thrown in a prison cell for murder, Sergeant Miller!"

"WHAT?"

"Yes, I know your name. And I also know you've been Doctor al-Hassan's last patient just before the man succumbed to a violent asphyxiation; you should've paid more attentions to the doctor's household, Sergeant. The doctor had a wife – tiny scrap of a thing, bought from her parents for a few coins and locked up in the kitchen all day long, nursing her baby. However, she was cunning enough to pierce the wall between the doctor's rooms and her kitchen to make a peephole and spy on his customers. She witnessed you strangling her husband and she didn't bother to raise the alarm, too happy to be free from her abuser; however, she had a body to dispose of and she required my services for this task. While obligingly burying her husband in a discreet place, I asked her questions about the murderer and she gave me a good description: an American soldier with a nasty glare and three chevrons under crossed rifles on his sleeve, who came several times for an injured tight; she even remembered her husband calling him _'Mee-llara'_ several times."

Butler also conveniently omitted mentioning something in the conversation: the little matter of shooting the widow in the head before snapping the baby's neck and then, dumping both bodies in the doctor's grave so they will spend eternity together. The mercenary was a firm believer in not separating families and leaving no witnesses behind him, as well.

The Sergeant blanched at those words; it was true he had not cared to learn if Doctor al-Hassan was married or not but, come to think of it, he certainly not the kind of man to take care of the pigsty he called his home – he would rather have a slave for this kind of low tasks while indulging on opium pills between two visiting patients. Of course, Butler could be lying about the woman but a look at the man's cruel eyes confirmed he was not bluffing.

"S-So what if I did?" said Miller with a pitiful attempt at a nonchalant tone, while picking up his cup of coffee. Taking a gulp at the black liquid, he tried not to grimace too much from the bitterness of the drink. "It's not as if Doctor al-Hassan will be missed – his medical practice was illegal, and his widow will get nothing by denouncing me to whatever passes for a police force here."

"Yep, but her testimony could launch an investigation, snowballing in the Afghan police filing a complaint to ISAF, and then forcing your General Stephenson to ask questions about an injured Sergeant, **got it?** And there are not thousands of your rank at the base, meaning all Sergeants – including you – could be ordered to have their legs examined by doctors while MPs would supervise the whole operation. And three guesses who would win First Prize?"

Miller's face turned as white as a sheet: the doctor's bitch could indeed put him in a great deal of trouble, and he had not a chance to silence her. He had never seen the woman during his calls at al-Hassan's home and besides, Afghani women hid under veils when stepping one toe out of their houses, meaning she could move around town in complete anonymity.

"Why are you telling me this?" asked a nervous Miller. "If you are so well-informed, why didn't you go to the police or the MPs?"

"Because you're of no use to me if you're in the slammer, **got it**? I want some real info about McGee, not the breadcrumbs you've been feeding me for the past ten minutes. I want to know _when_ he leaves the base, with _whom_, in a convoy of _how many_ cars, heading for _which_ direction and what kind of weapons he carries!"

"But to what purposes?"

For a few seconds, Butler considered shooting down the Sergeant and be done with him, but he had not managed to survive thirty years of war by being hasty; Miller was obviously an idiot but a little greed could sharpen his slow wits a little – just enough to provide him with the necessary information for his plan.

"Listen to me, Miller. McGee is way more than a bland accountant getting his ass screwed by the General. In fact, I have it on good authority that he's an Admiral's _son_."

The Sergeant chocked on his coffee at the news, spitting some of the hot drink on the table. _McGee-the-Wimp had a four-star father?_

"H-How do you know this?" managed to say Miller between two coughs.

"Weeks ago, I've been hired by a third party to keep a close look on McGee; just ultra-boring surveillance stuff, mainly spying on the man and check if he's still ticking and that kinda thing – but something told me there was more to the job than this. So I did a little digging in my souvenirs and it turns out that McGee kid has a close resemblance with Admiral Robert McGee, **got it**?"

"You gotta kidding me!"

"Nope. I got a glimpse of the young McGee yesterday, while he was leaving ISAF aboard a Humvee and he's the spitting image of his old man – plus, the Admiral in question isn't the kind of guy you can forget: he's an absolute bastard, full of piss and wind, and he looks down at you as if you were an old piece of gum stuck at the soles of his polished boots. I saw him once and it was enough to hate him for the rest of my life."

"You must have been mistaken! McGee's a Lieutenant of the Finance Corps; he would hardly work there if he had such a high-ranking father!"

"Yeah, well it must be a bad case of the apple falling far from the tree – but I could not care less if the young McGee is only good enough to change rolls of toilet paper in the latrines of ISAF. What's important is, his old man is rich; loaded, to be precise and it can explain why the third party wanted to know if the kid was faring well. My employer is a former Marine working for NCIS in DC; probably the Admiral wanted to know if his issue was safe without raising suspicions."

Miller's stupefaction turned into a grimace of satisfaction; so, the fag had a rich father, eh? The Admiral would pay handsomely to avoid a scandal, if someone had the proof his son was whoring to another four-star bastard.

"And you want me to spy on McGee and find a proof that he has his nose up to Stephenson's ass?"

"No, stupid! I want to kidnap McGee."

This time, Miller remained as still as a statue, uncertain that he had heard well. Only his mouth was moving, opening and closing like a fish out of the water and Butler had to slap him across the face to get him out of his trance.

"OW! But what…"

"For the last time, keep your voice down, you blockhead! Remember there's a gun under the table and your name's written on a bullet!"

"But why do you want to kidnap McGee?"

"For money, you fool! What did you think? I was running a lucrative business here in Afghanistan but my customers haven't been happy with my merchandise lately – for some reason, their great plans in destroying this or that target have failed one after another, and they had the nerve to blame the quality of my goods. Long story short, they blame me for their failures and I have to make myself scarce – but for that, I need travelling money, **got it**? And then, I get a phone call from a third party asking me to keep a close look at a Daddy's boy who happens to come from big money. Too good an opportunity to pass, don't you think?"

"You won't be able to kidnap McGee on your own," countered Miller. "He's under heavy protection whenever he leaves ISAF."

"That's where you'll finally become useful, my friend – you will tell me when McGee's next stroll in the desert will happen and then, with the help of a few allies I have made here, I will arrange a little kidnapping"

"You'd enroll terrorists to help you in the snatching? Are you insane? Those guys are killers!" sputtered Miller.

"True, but they know the mountains like the back of their hands and that's the perfect place to keep a prisoner. The guys I know will be very happy to help in kidnapping a 'Prince' worth a lot of dollars they need to buy new guns. Plus, they have thousands of accomplices – willing or not – in the nearby villages who can warn them when American patrols come too close for comfort. But we have to hurry: winter is coming, and McGee has to be taken and brought to the mountains before the first snows, otherwise ambushing his convoy would be too difficult. Then I will send Admiral McGee a tape of his son tied up, beaten to a pulp and begging for his life; the old bastard will beg on his knees for his release!"

"You forget our government's policy: we don't deal with terrorists, even in case of kidnappings."

"That's the official policy, but do you think the Admiral won't do anything to save his son, like hiring third parties to conduct an illegal recovery operation in the Afghan desert?"

"Third parties? You mean…"

"Yeah, the guy I'm supposed to work for; I know him, he thinks way too highly of himself, too. After McGee's disappearance, he will ask me to find the kid's whereabouts before coming to the rescue on his mighty white horse – but I'll arrange for an 'accident' on the way, and the Admiral will have to pay for the release of his son AND the men he sent to find him, **got it**?"

"You'd double-cross the man who hired you?"

"Why not? It's not as if I own him everything; he pays me a pittance to watch over McGee so it's high time to take out the big guns for the big payday – and you'd earn a fair amount of money if you agree to jump on the bandwagon. But take your decision fast."

"C-Can I think about it?"

"You have ten seconds."

Miller pondered over Butler's words; the idea of kidnapping McGee was certainly not unpleasant – beating the fag into submission, holding him for months in an icy cave in the middle of snow-covered mountains, scaring the life out of him definitively appealed to the Sergeant's sadistic nature. And earning a nice sum of money would give the kick-off to the black market business he had been dreaming of setting up at ISAF for a long, long time. The Admiral would pay the ransom for certain; that was the only thing those rich guys were good for, paying! And once the money would arrive, McGee would be dealt with and his corpse left in the desert to be eaten by carrion feeders – no body, no proof, no problem, just another tragic death in the Afghan war.

And with McGee out of the way, maybe Butler and his goons would agree to organize the kidnapping of a certain female doctor, but there would be no ransom asked: just lots of payment in kind…

"Okay, I'm in," said Miller. "How can I contact you?"

"With this," answered Butler while dropping a cheap cell phone on the table. "It has my number; call me as soon as you know the time when McGee will leave ISAF next, **got it**? I want the maximum of information – the more you give me, the more you'll be paid. Once the deed is done, meet me at this café and I'll give you instructions for spreading some false clues about where McGee could be held. The Allied forces will waste precious time on wild goose's chases and then Admiral McGee will pay up, too worried and too desperate to do anything else."

"Brilliant!"

"No need for toadying. Make yourself scarce, go back to the base and earn your bread – but take this, as a token of good faith."

Butler placed a small, rectangular box on the table and Miller picked it up; opening the lid carefully, he took a peek and his eyes widened at the sight: about a dozen of opium pills were tucked inside the box!

"Yeah, the doctor's wife told me about your favorite 'candy'; these should keep you from wasting your time in the streets 'til McGee's in our hands."

"Thank you! You won't regret trusting me!" exclaimed Miller.

"Make sure that I won't, **got it**? Otherwise, a Sergeant can disappear in the mountains like a Lieutenant. Now, beat it."

Miller did not have to be asked for twice. Clutching his treasure of pills in one hand, he got up on his feet and walked out of the coffeehouse, barely taking the time to cover his face. With those pills, he would calm down the tremors racking his body and the pain on his leg – and he had been offered a good sum of money in exchange of the fag's life! Talk about a winning streak! And this time, there won't be any mess-up: slippery shower rooms, interfering nurse, moving love-nests would not be enough to save McGee from his fate. He would learn the hard way that he should never have crossed Kenneth Miller's path!

Butler watched the retreating silhouette of the Sergeant and snorted loudly; Miller was a true gem! Cowardly, stupid and greedy, the perfect accomplice for his plan as the mercenary had a hidden agenda. Kidnapping McGee and extorting a ransom from his father was only the tip of the iceberg; Butler had learned beforehand that the young man was some kind of a computer genius and a federal agent at NCIS, the same organization where Gibbs had been employed in after he had left the Marines. Consequently, the kid could hardly be an accountant in the Marines and a fed at the same time, so the only logical conclusion was McGee in an undercover job. Also, Butler had found out about the existence of Robert McGee – unlike the lie he had told Miller, he had never met the Admiral in his life – but that fact did not matter since he did not have the intention to ask for a ransom: he had his eyes on a bigger prize, something that would restore his reputation as an arm dealer and provide him with enough money to live the rest of his days without having to work.

His business had taken the plunge a few weeks ago; angry customers had informed him their planned attacks had been foiled every time a convoy of two Humvees had been near their intended targets and spies had spoken about a man holding a laptop amongst the soldiers dismantling his antique landmines. Butler had lurked in the shadows nearby ISAF and he had spotted a young man just matching Gibbs' description of McGee coming out of the base aboard a vehicle, looking intensely at a computer resting on his knees. And that idiot Miller had said their prey was inseparable from his laptop, which could only mean one thing:

_McGee had found a way to detect his landmines_.

A computer genius, a fake identity, Gibbs asking for surveillance, his customers' attacks failing one after another…. It did not take a Nobel Prize to understand McGee was involved in all this. And the only way to find out how he was able to detect explosives with such accuracy was to extort information from the kid, one way or the other. Butler was certain the key of the puzzle was in the laptop but, like Gibbs, the mercenary was technologically inept. Stealing the computer would not be enough: McGee had to be taken as well and then, his secrets would be sold to terrorists.

No doubts his clients would pay a King's ransom for a device able to detect weapons at a distance, and Burt Butler always had a fondness for gold; he had missed his chance in the past to earn a fortune, but this time he would not let it slip from his fingers – not even Leroy Jethro Gibbs trying to order him about. Gibbs was nothing but a bastard behaving as if the land was his, but he was getting old and he would not be able to protect his NCIS boy while being miles away!

TBC…


	48. A deflagration

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- A very angry Ziva here… Please check your accident insurance and wear a medieval armor before reading! xD

- "The Sword of Damocles" is an anecdote popularized by Cicero (106 BC – 43 BC): Damocles, obsequious courtier of Dionysius II of Syracuse, was offered by his king to trade their places. He eagerly sat on the throne but realized too late Dionysius had arranged for a sword to be hanged above his head by a single horse tail's hair. Damocles finally begged the king for his permission to vacate the throne. This anecdote became an expression of living under constant fear.

- Tony's age is based on actor Michael Weatherly's.

- Mike Tyson (b. June 30, 1966) is an American boxing champion.

- Syndactyly is a medical condition in where two digits or more are being fused together (from Wikipedia).

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><p><strong>Chapter 48: A deflagration<strong>

_Four days later, at NCIS…_

"Okay, Ducky; we're here at your request, so tell us what's going on!"

Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs was showing off his usual arrogant, authoritative self to hide his unease: his gut was telling him that something was off and it would spell trouble for his team. Ducky had asked to meet him at the autopsy room with Tony after work but – and the Scotsman had been adamant about this – neither Ziva nor Abby were invited to come along. In fact, Ducky had practically begged Gibbs to not mention their meeting to the girls, otherwise they would all have to suffer _"dreadful consequences"_; their Team was already on the razor's edge and another scandal in the bullpen would sign their death warrant for sure – or worse, show them the door. Ducky had also said this situation called for discretion (ruling Abby out) and calm (thus, excluding Ziva) and he would hate himself for the remaining of his days if the young agents' careers were ruined simply because Gibbs made it one of his rules to follow the simplest instructions.

The silver-haired man had frowned at those words: he could count on the fingers of one hand the times he had been rebuked by Ducky, the most mild-mannered man in the world. He never seemed to be put-off by Gibbs' brusqueness – in fact, he would carry on telling stories about his past experiences as if nothing worthy of importance was happening, including the Team Leader's exasperation for results that were ten seconds late. If Ducky had asked for his complete discretion, then it was certainly for a serious matter: the elderly M.E. was not the kind to raise false alarms just for the fun of it.

Gibbs had then told Tony they both would stay at the bullpen to work on cold cases, in the hopes of reinstating the demoted Senior Agent in Vance's good graces. Tony had moaned a little at the thought of doing overtime, since he had a date with a woman met in a bar, but one cold glare had instantly stopped his whines. Ziva had offered her help but Gibbs had declined it, stating she was working hard enough and should not be involved in cleaning up Tony's messes. The ex-Mossad had narrowed her eyes a little at those words, but she had grabbed her backpack and left the bullpen without insisting. As for Abby, she had been too happy to flee home: Peterson had filed the paperwork for his complaint against her and the Lab Rat lived under a sword of Damocles, fearfully waiting for the fatal moment when the Director would summon her to his office. Consequently, Abby had decided to remain as quiet as possible, coming to work before everybody and leaving once the coast was clear. Even though she was certain Gibbs would get her off the hook, it was strategically wise to keep a low profile until the whole matter would be sorted or, even better, swept under the carpet like it had been done with her previous shenanigans.

Gibbs and Tony had gone down to Autopsy the minute after Ziva and Abby had left the building; but Ducky was not the only one waiting for them: Jimmy Palmer was also present, as well as a young man seated on Ducky's chair. Jimmy was standing next to the stranger and he looked positively furious, his eyes flashing in anger behind his glasses and that was an unnerving sight: the Gremlin was not known for having an aggressive nature.

"Would it kill you to say 'hello' to Doctor Mallard, Agent Gibbs?"

"Now, now, Mister Palmer!" interfered Ducky. "I'm in charge of this meeting and I don't want it to end before we can even start, so please keep your eloquent vehemence under control."

"Yeah, why don't you get lost and hide in Ducky's office, Palmer?" asked Tony, annoyed at this criticism towards his mentor.

"Not this time, DiNozzo, and it's useless to glare at me, Agent Gibbs. I'm here at Doctor Mallard's request and _**nothing**_ will make me budge from this spot!" answered the assistant, one of his hands resting on the unknown man's shoulder. Tony thought Jimmy looked like he was ready to defend his mysterious guest at all costs and, in other circumstances, it would have been comical. As if a Gremlin could stand against two seasoned federal agents!

"Jethro, Anthony, please take a seat. I trust you haven't mentioned our meeting to Ziva or Abigail?"

"No, I've made sure they went home before we came," answered Gibbs while sitting down on a stool. Tony chose to sit nonchalantly on one of the metallic slabs usually reserved to corpses. "So, let's cut the chit-chat and tell me what's going on, Ducky."

"For a starter, tell us who this guy is!" said Tony with a move of his chin towards the man seated close to Jimmy: his face looked vaguely familiar but the Senior Agent could not recall his name. "I ain't keen on talking business in front of strangers."

Ducky and Jimmy exchanged a knowing look, and then the elderly M.E. answered with an unusual amount of steel in his voice: "This young man's name, Anthony, is Samuel Wilson and he has been working here at NCIS for the past four years. To be precise, Samuel is a computer technician and he has been specifically assigned to supervise audio and video communications at MTAC."

Tony paled a bit at those words, and he took a better look at Sam. The feeling of _déjà vu_ increased and then his eyes widened as he recognized the scrawny 'geek' he had roughened up a bit when he had invaded MTAC to talk with McGee through a screen. What on Earth was he doing here, did he want to complain about him? No, he would not dare! The guy was a weakling and he would not have the balls to speak against a Senior field Agent.

"I see you have recognized our guest, Anthony, although I am surprised you haven't identified him the second you've stepped inside this room."

"It's probably due to the fact MTAC is under constant dim light for a better resolution of the images on the screens," said Sam.

"And also, because DiNozzo would think it below him to remember the face and name of a 'geek'," added Jimmy venomously. "After all, it took him ages to remember mine!"

"Mister Palmer..."

"Will we ever get started? What's all this about, Ducky?" barked Gibbs.

"I am coming to it, Jethro, if you would have the politeness to let me talk!" answered the older man firmly. "I am not one of those suspects you drag in interrogation rooms to wipe your feet clean on; nobody, not even you, walks over me. Now, as I was saying, young Samuel here works at MTAC and a disagreeable incident happened a few weeks ago. According to Samuel, he has been forced to give Anthony access to MTAC, regardless of Director Vance's strict orders that no member of Team Gibbs was allowed to be in contact with Timothy for the duration of his mission abroad."

Gibbs instantly jumped on his feet; one look at Tony's guilty face confirmed him that Wilson was telling the truth. Growling at his Senior Agent, he asked with a harsh tone:

"You deliberately ignored Vance's orders? _Are you crazy?_ You're under probation for the next four months and yet, you keep on acting the fool right under the Director's nose. Talk about begging to be fired!"

"C'mon, Boss! It's no big deal..."

_TWACK!_

"**OUCH!"**

"Of all the stupid things! Good grief! As if I don't have enough on my plate with Abby's childish attitude and Peterson's complain, now I also have to deal with your stupidity! But whatever possessed you to go behind my back and act so rashly?"

"To answer your question, Jethro, it would be best to let Samuel tell his story," said Ducky.

Sam looked very uncomfortable, but Jimmy's hand on his shoulder grounded him and he knew he could count on his support, as well as Doctor Mallard's; the affable old man had been outraged after hearing Sam's revelations about what had happened at MTAC, right after his return from the New York conference. Doctor Mallard had a long experience of military expeditions in foreign countries and he knew too well the damages inflicted on soldiers' mental health by bad news from home: fearing that McGee would become discouraged and suffer from a consequent lack of concentration – with fatal consequences while evolving in a war zone – the M.E. had encouraged Sam to confront DiNozzo, regardless of Gibbs' reputation for ferociously defending the ones he considered his favorites. Doctor Mallard had guaranteed his full protection and that had decided Sam to come clean. Ducky may be old but he was still a formidable adversary and no one, not even Gibbs, could overlook this fact.

"Director Vance ordered me to take a break while he was on line so I went to fetch some coffee," said Sam. "After a moment, he told me I could go back to work so I got the door opened and right after that, I was jumped at and roughly shoved inside the MTAC room by Agent DiNozzo."

"Oh, the poor sweet baby! Aren't we fussy, fussy, fussy?" said Tony with a mocking tone.

"Keep quiet, Anthony!" shot Ducky back. "Your usual negligence towards other people won't save you from trouble."

"C'mon, Ducky, it wasn't even a shove! I just pushed him inside because I wanted to talk to McGee and since Vance wouldn't allow me to do so, I cut a few corners to get a connection."

"You've assaulted a fellow employee, Anthony; one of your own colleagues. According to the NCIS book of rules and regulations, that's a First-Rate offence!"

"Are you kidding me? He can hardly be called a colleague; he's barely a geek!"

_**TWACK!**_

"Talk to me, Wilson," said Gibbs with an icy voice, while Tony was rubbing his skull in the earnest while stars were flashing beneath his eyelids, closed tightly against the pain.

"The communication with Agent McGee was still running, and Agent DiNozzo seized the opportunity to talk with him... or, should I say, to taunt him. Firstly, by making comments on his appearance; secondly, by stating that the other team members didn't miss Agent McGee and they didn't need a computer tech for their investigations - conveniently omitting the fact that Team Gibbs has been assigned to filing cold cases since Agent McGee has left for Afghanistan. Thirdly, Agent DiNozzo affirmed that Miss Sciuto was back at her lab and having a blast whereas, at the time, she had her suspension prolonged for six weeks by Director Vance. And, last but not the least, Agent DiNozzo boasted about he and Agent David being involved in a romantic relationship."

The sound of a pin dropping on the autopsy room's floor could have been heard after this painful confession: Gibbs was agape; Ducky was frowning disapprovingly in the general direction of Tony; Sam looked the Senior Agent straight in the eyes, as if he dared him to contradict him but Tony was too busy with his hurting skull to notice; Jimmy, his hand still on Sam's shoulder, looked positively furious and only the fact he had given his word to Doctor Mallard that he would keep his anger under control stopped him from giving Tony a piece of his mind.

"You... You told McGee you were dating Ziva? Are you nuts?" asked an appalled Gibbs.

"Yeah, especially since it is common knowledge that David would rather eat garbage than date you, DiNozzo!" interfered Jimmy.

"It seems to me your illegal 'conversation' with Timothy has been nothing but a long string of lies, Anthony. Perhaps you could grace us with an explanation for your behavior?" said Ducky with a no-nonsense look on his face, as if he was admonishing a troublemaking student in a lecture hall.

Tony was starting to feel very ill at ease, and it was not from the two head-slaps he had received in less than a minute. Gibbs was glaring at him with the intensity he usually reserved for child-molesters and this time, Tony knew he could not count on Ducky's support to take the heat out of the situation. The Senior Agent was also starting to feel resentful towards Sam the whistleblower: if he had kept his mouth shut, like he ordered him to do so, all this mess would have been avoided and no-one would have been the wiser! But no, he had to open his yap-trap and, considering Jimmy's hostile attitude, Sam had probably confessed to the Autopsy Gremlin in the first place, who in turn had ratted him to Ducky. A nice display of solidarity between geeks!

"Well, Anthony? Can you explain why you told such blatant lies to Timothy?"

Tony shrugged; to tell the truth, he did not exactly know what had prompted him to jump at Sam and force his entry in the MTAC room. A lying part of his brains wanted to convince him that he had been genuinely concerned about his absent partner; a larger part, filled with ego, was telling he wanted to see for himself if McGee was truly faring well in Afghanistan since it was notorious that only he, Special Agent Tony DiNozzo, had the qualifications for missions in war zones. A third part, very tiny but much more truthful than the others, was whispering that Tony had felt instant jealousy at the sight of a healthy, happy Tim on a MTAC screen; unable to cope with his colleague's success, Tony had hurled lies in the vain hope to diminish Tim's accomplishments and he had almost failed, until he had pretended to be Ziva's man. A light had been extinguished in Tim's eyes, and yet the young man had refused to take the bait, just muttering a few words of politeness before switching off the communication.

"I dunno... I was just teasing."

"_TEASING?!"_ repeated four incredulous voices in unison.

"Well, yeah... I do it to Probie all the time, ya know? And just because he's away in Afghanistan, it doesn't mean I have to stop, right?"

Gibbs looked like he was going to punch his agent square on the face but after a long, shuddering sigh he opted for running his hands on his face in an attempt to clear his mind. The situation was grave, dangerous and utterly stupid, but not desperate yet; no-one apart from five men knew about Tony's lies to McGee, meaning there was still a change to correct the situation before it would reach Vance's ears or, worst of all, Ziva's. Sam seemed to be a reasonable man and, with a little luck, he could be persuaded to give them access to MTAC without the Director's knowledge – like sneaking in the room as soon as Vance would be finished with his weekly meeting with Tim. Then, Gibbs would drag Tony in front of the screens and force him to confess his lies to McGee. His youngest would be very cross at this revelation, but at least he would not do anything reckless to show Tony that he was as much a man as the Senior Agent pretended to be.

Out of the blue, Sarah's words jumped inside the Team Leader's mind: _"__There goes another brilliant example of your teaching, Agent Gibbs!"_.

Holy God, she had been right on all accounts! Gibbs had overlooked Tony's mean teasing for years as long as it did not interfere with the solving of cases but he would have never imagined, not even in a thousand years, that his adopted son would push the harassment to the point of deliberately lying to an endangered colleague, just to make sure he would remain the unchallenged 'star' of NCIS. Gibbs had noticed years ago that Tony had a pathological fear of being left behind: a character trait he had acquired in his childhood, after his unreliable father had forgotten him in motel rooms several times, just to be free to court the ladies. Tony had explained this after several persons had reproached him his attention-seeking, his relentless teasing of McGee and his tendency to take all the credit for other people's work; however, the Senior Agent was not a child anymore: he was forty-two years old and it was high time he changed his attitude!

"You really thought we'd swallow such a lame explanation as that? You're pitiful, DiNozzo," said Jimmy.

"Now, look here, Gremlin..."

"It's _**Doctor**_ Palmer to you! And I don't buy it for a minute that you lied to McGee just because you were in full pseudo-Big Brother mood and wanted to tease him. Sam told me in full details how you criticized his appearance, denigrated his work in Afghanistan before saying that you and David were an item. You lied to McGee simply because you're jealous of him, and that's no fresh news; in fact, you've been resenting him since the day he had the misfortune to be recruited by Gibbs. Little did McGee know, at the time, that he would be working for a team of brain-haters!"

"Mister Palmer, this is enough. I am certain Anthony has finally realized the errors of his ways."

"I doubt that very much, Doctor Mallard! DiNozzo is Gibbs' favorite, just like Abby, and thus he will **never** acknowledge his wrongs... Especially not to McGee! Otherwise, it could ruin his 'cool' image and nothing matters to him more than this Superman image he's parading around NCIS. Very Special Agent Tony 'DiNavel' is indeed Gibbs' true heir... The Super-Alpha-Males, the Rough and Tough, the Hard Nuts who always get away with it and never forget to leave apologies to wusses like Tim or me. By the way, do you know how the guys at Cyber-Crimes spell your name, Agent Gibbs? They do it this way: "G" is for Galling, "I" is for Inconsiderate, "double B" is for Double Bastard and "S" is for Selfish!"

"Mister Palmer!" exclaimed Ducky, surprised at this explosion of anger.

"Sorry, Doctor Mallard, but I had to get this off my chest. It wasn't bad enough that Agent Gibbs' callous attitude had driven Tim away from the States; no, Agent DiNozzo had to discourage him from afar, as well!"

"Get out of here, Palmer!" roared Gibbs, but Jimmy did not flinch.

"No, I won't. I only obey to Doctor Mallard and, considering yours and your golden boy's past actions, I'll never be scared of you again. Respect is _**earned**_, Agent Gibbs, and you cannot obtain it by terrorizing other people. You should have learned this truism a long time ago, instead of pretending to be above reproach because of your Marine training."

Silence fell on like a cloak made of lead. Tony's unease was increasing by the minute: if geeks like Jimmy or Sam were no longer afraid of Gibbs, then his protection won't be enough to spare the Senior Agent from an explosion of anger coming from Volcano Vance. Ducky sighed heavily; this kind of conflict was aging him and he could ill afford to waste the few years he had left to live! Sam was squirming on his seat, secretly wishing they could reach an agreement so they could all go home and Jimmy shared the same feeling in spite of his anger. Breena was waiting for him and he had better things to do than to stay in the unwanted company of Gibbs and DiNozzo.

"Look, Jethro, this meeting was not set up in secret for us to throw loud accusations at each other's face," said Ducky in a placating tone. "What matters right now is Timothy's well-being and the unique way we have at our disposal to rectify the situation is to talk to him via MTAC. Maybe Samuel will agree to grant us a short amount of communication time in all discretion, provided he will receive a full apology from Anthony for his blatant disregard towards the NCIS rules concerning working relationships between colleagues?"

"What? No way in Hell will I..."

_**TWACK.**_

"You're right, Ducky. We have to keep this silly matter between ourselves and Sam here is the only one who can help us out; the main thing is, we have to keep Ziva and Abby in the dark. Ziva simply cannot know about Tony lying about a so-called relationship! Otherwise, even I won't be able to control her reactions and her Mossad training can do some terrible damages. And Abby won't be able to control that waggling tongue of hers: sooner or later, she will let the information slip and here again, Ziva would go on a murdering rampage and it would spell the end of our team. Ziva must not hear a word about Tony's lies, are we all clear?"

"But what if she already knew?" asked a feminine voice behind Gibbs' back.

The five men gasped in a same voice: Special Agent Ziva David was standing on the threshold, her lovely face carved in granite and her eyes flashing like twin obsidian stones.

"What if she had heard every word you've said for the past ten minutes?" asked Ziva in a low, dangerous voice. Tony stopped rubbing at his head as he noticed the heavy-looking stapler and the large paperclips his colleague was holding in her hands.

"And what if she was so angry that she would be past the point of hearing her boss' orders, or anybody else's for that matter?"

Jimmy and Sam yelped in fear.

"David, no! Listen to me!" roared Gibbs. "Ziva! **ZIVAAAAAAA!**"

* * *

><p><em>A tornado later...<em>

"Great, just great!" grumbled Jimmy as he was unsuccessfully trying to pry the stapler out of the still-fuming and broken computer screen. "That was the last thing this autopsy room needed: being completely trashed by a pissed off Mossad assassin!"

"She has a good aim, though; otherwise, we would all have ended up dead!" said Sam while taking off a scalpel that had been thrown in a wall. The sharp blade had been twisted by the impact and was completely useless for any kind of post-mortem work.

"Gentlemen, please!" said Ducky, lifting his eyes from his patient. "Could you not waste time in tidying up things here a bit?"

"Sorry, Doctor Mallard, but Agent David has made such a mess... It will take us hours to clean this up and I'm not sure we'll be finished before the next morning shift."

Ducky sighed as he tabbed some cotton saturated with antiseptic on Tony's cut eyebrow. It was his smallest wound but the Senior Agent groaned as if he was being flayed alive.

"Take it easy, Ducky! I don't want my looks to be ruined by scars. How will I chat up the ladies?"

"Your looks should be the last of your worries, Anthony," answered the M.E. "Right now, you should think long and hard about how this whole catastrophe could have been avoided if you had acted like a true colleague instead of a college clown constantly preying on freshmen."

A neon light from a damaged ceiling lamp flickered and then died in a last burst of electrical sparks; the four remaining men jumped slightly at the sound, to resume quickly to their respective tasks.

"But Ducky! I don't wanna be disfigured!"

"Will you stop complaining?" asked Jimmy while picking up an electric saw that had fallen on the floor. "You're supposed to have endured martyrdom during your heroic actions in Somalia so a few bruises won't kill you."

"Yeah, count yourself lucky Gibbs has managed to stop David by reminding about your little trip down in Africa to rescue her!" added Sam. "Otherwise, you could have been killed."

"You think I'm alive?" countered Tony. "Look at me, I'm a mess!"

Sam glanced at the Senior Agent and made a small grimace; Tony was indeed looking as if he had fought twelve rounds against Mike Tyson and lost: bloodied nose, cut eyebrow, hair shortened by a flying scalpel, a black eye, cut lower lip, broken cheekbone and only a desperate dive on the floor to avoid sharpened items had saved his right ear from being severed. Not to forget the multiple bruises he had sustained from being repetitively kicked and a finger that had almost been twisted out of its metacarpal. All in one, Tony DiNozzo was no longer the dashing Senior Agent who had entered Autopsy a moment ago but looked more like the survivor of a plane crash. His arrogance, however, was still intact and he barked in the general direction of Sam:

"Then again, what do you care, tech geek? You've had your revenge for me roughing you a little, so sit back and enjoy the show!"

"Anthony, calm down while I'm tending your wounds."

"I'm not the kind of guy who kicked downed people, DiNozzo," answered Sam calmly, while picking up the plastic pieces of a printer. "And I fail to see the humor in this situation."

"Me too," added Jimmy as he retrieved a severed hand from the floor. It did not belonged to a victim of a murder case; he had borrowed it from medical school to show it to Doctor Mallard, as the hand presented an interesting case of syndactyly. Luckily, it had not been damaged by the hurricane from Israel so Jimmy would be able to return it promptly, as he did not need any more trouble in his life. Breena had not been pleased at all learning over the phone that her fiancé would have to stay at work longer than expected...

"All right, Anthony, I'm all done," announced Ducky after having finished applying the last butterfly bandage. "But you are coming with me; I do insist that you undergo a complete check-up and I will drive you to the hospital."

"But, Ducky..."

"No discussions, Anthony! It is not the time and place! And spare me from your usual 'tough-guy' act and that nonsense about real men not needing medical attention. Gibbs would approve of me staying on the cautious side about your health and besides, you are in no shape to argue."

"Quite right," muttered Jimmy, staring at paper clips that had been stuck in a filing cabinet. Ziva had a good aim and a great throwing arm, for sure; she could apply for a pitcher's position in a baseball team!

Tony groaned a bit for form, but he nonetheless accepted going to the hospital with Ducky. The M.E. had his entries at the Walter Reed National Military Medical Center and he could feed to the inquiring staff a cock-and-bull story explaining Tony's injuries without raising suspicions. Besides, considering Ziva's state of mind, it was hazardous for Tony's health to remain in the same building as her. Ducky grabbed his coat, his car keys, and turned towards his assistant who was busy straightening an overturned dissection table with the help of the computer tech:

"Mister Palmer, Mister Wilson, I do realize cleaning up this room is a herculean task considering the circumstances and I am truly sorry to leave you do the heavy job. But I trust you to understand that Anthony needs to go to the hospital after having being used as a human punching ball by Ziva. Also, I trust your discretion about what has recently happened here."

"But, Doctor Mallard, what about the damage here?" asked Jimmy. "How are we going to explain the broken computer screen and the printer? The scalpels embedded on the furniture? What about the damaged neon light? We'll have to ask maintenance for a replacement. And the impact on the refrigerator's door? The files that had been thrown all over the place? Not to forget the destruction of your office chair and the shelves that had been torn off the walls!"

"Even though a lot of people at NCIS don't like to come down at Autopsy, you'll still have problems to explain this," confirmed Sam.

Ducky put on his coat with a small smile: "Dear me, it must be my age. Young lads like you would not believe how clumsy a man can become once he has reached his senior years. I will just have to explain to Director Vance that a series of unfortunate events, caused by a bout of balance disorder, has caused me to break a few things at Autopsy; he won't be too happy with me, especially with his own worries about budget, but seventy-eight years of charm will probably ease our Director's dissatisfaction."

"You'll do this for me, Ducky?" asked Tony, his eyes filled with renewed hope.

"No, Anthony: I will do this for **all** the members of Team Gibbs. You see, you are seriously lacking of what is called _esprit de corps_, or the ability of a group to reach its goals by maintaining solidarity between its members. Consequently, there's no place for diva attitude, usurpation of credit or attention-seeking. Timothy knows quite well about this _esprit de corps_ and so do I; but alas, Abigail and you are still struggling to learn it and the both of you won't amount to anything as long as you fear being replaced for the title of 'Jethro's favorite', and using every means necessary – including calumnies – to remove a competition that has never existed in the first place. This kind of behavior is damageable for the whole team but firstly, to you, Anthony. "_O, beware, my lord, of jealousy. It is the green-eyed monster, which doth mock the meat it feeds on"_. Good old Shakespeare was right about this: jealousy prompts us to make fools out of others, and at the same time we make proper fools out of ourselves. You are a good agent, Anthony, but you will never be promoted to Team Leader until you stop this permanent belittling of beginners and intellectuals. I would hate to think you have already hit the glass ceiling so early in your career, just because the idea of not being the number-one in every field is unbearable for you. Now, think about this while I drive you to the hospital; more precisely, think about the apology you will present to Timothy, for having lied to his face about your imaginary romantic involvement with Ziva."

Jimmy and Sam watched sadly as the M.E. helped the Senior Agent to walk out of Autopsy; indeed, DiNozzo had hit rock bottom and being almost torn to pieces by David was only a prelude of the problems he would have to face in a close future. The hinges of the Autopsy room's revolving doors had been damaged during the fight and made an awful squeaking sound, like a grotesque imitation of a death knell.

TBC...


	49. A destruction

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- A shorter chapter this week… Sorry, but I've caught a bad cold! :'-(

_- In petto_ means 'in one's chest' or 'secretly' in Italian.

- The 2004 Indian Ocean earthquake and tsunami which occurred on December 26, 2004, claimed 227,898 human lives worldwide.

- To Zik: I'm glad you liked the description of the wreckage! ;-)

- To None: Ziva is too professional to rip Tony apart with her bare hands, and a major drama will temporarily prevent Vance from showing Tony the door (hint hint!)

- To Ollie260211: thank you very much!

- To Earthdragon: here's some Tim in this chapter, and a lot more in the future chapters. Hope you'll like it!

- To TAD: enthusiastic, are you? xD

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 49: A destruction<strong>

"Ziva…"

"Don't talk to me, Gibbs."

"Ziva!"

"I said, **'Don't talk to me'**!" exclaimed the young woman, standing in front of one of her flat's windows.

Gibbs, seated on the sofa, sighed heavily and rubbed at his eyes: after the Autopsy room had been thoroughly wrecked by a very pissed-off, irate, wrathful ex-Mossad officer, he had escorted the said officer out of the NCIS building, keeping her under a (relative) control in order to avoid embarrassing images to be recorded by the security cameras in the corridors. Thanking his lucky stars that all the other agents in the bullpen had gone home, Gibbs had pressed the elevator's button and thrown Ziva inside without ceremony, just before stepping inside the cabin as well and pressing on the garage's button. Then they had gone to the underground parking and Gibbs had driven Ziva to her flat: the woman was in a state of barely-contained rage and, with her less-than-careful driving skills, it would have been a recipe for disaster to let her roam in the streets of DC in her car.

During the whole trip, Ziva had not said a word; her dark eyes had been phosphorescent with rage and she was clenching and unclenching her fingers as if she wanted to wrap them around Tony's throat and squeeze it like an orange. Gibbs also had trouble finding his words: the confrontation at Ducky's lair had been painful, not only for his Senior Agent but for the rest of the team as well. Tony had admitted having assaulted Sam and made a mockery of Vance's orders to have an illegal conversation with Tim, who was in one of the most dangerous warzones in the world… just to 'tease' him!

Well, it was the official version, anyway, but Gibbs knew there was more than met the eye. Tony was a clown and a prankster, no arguments there but he loved his career at NCIS too much to flush it down the toilets – and risking the ire of Volcano Vance – for something as harebrained as teasing a colleague on a secret mission. Not to forget his current probation status… One whisper of what had happened at MTAC and the review board would not have other options than to ask for Tony's sacking and it would have utterly destroyed the young man.

Speaking of destruction… Gibbs would never have imagined such a slim-looking woman could make a rampage of this scale! Ziva often joked about being able to dismember people with paper clips or turning a paperweight into a multi-function lethal weapon, but the Team Leader had thought those declarations being only exaggerations to measure up with Tony's canards in the bullpen. Of course, he was aware of Ziva's skills but sometimes, they sounded so extraordinary that it was hard to believe them without asking for a little demonstration.

Well, there had been a demonstration, all right! The Autopsy room looked like it had fallen victim of the 2004 Boxing Day tsunami and doubtless Vance would ask for explanations after receiving demands for new computers, printers and medical gear. Another pleasant meeting in the Director's office ahead…

Gibbs had driven Ziva to her building and then, unable to leave her on her own in such an angry state, he had escorted the young woman to her apartment. Ziva had stepped inside as soon as the door's lock had been opened, uncaring about the older man right behind her. After a slight moment of hesitation, Gibbs had entered the flat as well: they might have a conversation right away, when it was still time to make amends, instead of letting the situation rot to the point of going to work would become unbearable, signing the death warrant of Team Gibbs.

But talking with someone was kind of hard when the said person was turning a deaf ear to his peace attempts.

"Ziva…"

"I'm not through destroying, Gibbs. Maybe I should have a go with you?"

"Agent David, you're going too far!" said the silver-haired man sharply with his best 'Super-Boss' tone. "I understand you're angry at DiNozzo but it's not a reason to threaten your senior officer. I'm still the leader of this team and what I say, goes. Is that clear?"

Ziva turned her livid face towards Gibbs and said in a slow, scathing voice: "Glass-clear, Sir."

The silver-haired man decided to cut his agent a break, and he repressed the urge to snort at the idiomatic mistake. More pressing matters were at hand and he had to be sure Ziva would accept to keep her anger under control, long enough for repairing the damages to both Tony and the Autopsy room.

"Good. Now, David, I'm quite aware that you have all the reasons in the world to hate Tony's guts – heck, I'm not proud of him for the moment. What he did was completely puerile, unworthy of an experienced Senior Agent and, what's worse, he did it on purpose just to get another occasion to humiliate Tim."

"Yes, well we all know that dragging Tim in the mud is one of Tony's favorite pastimes, isn't it?" asked Ziva, her eyes boring holes at the wall behind Gibbs. "Along with boasting about his undeserved title of Senior Agent and pretending to be the reincarnation of Casanova: Tony wouldn't have lasted one day at Mossad with such an attitude, I'm telling you!"

"Neither would have he in the Marines… Sometimes I wonder how he managed to survive all these years before entering NCIS."

"The answer's simple, Gibbs: _Tony wouldn't have survived_ _without you keeping him on the straight and 'barrow'_; only your training and attitude has managed to keep Tony away from trouble but, since Tim left, he seemed resolute to sabotage his career – and ours – at all costs!"

"But it's not going to happen, now, is it?" asked the older man while getting on his feet. "Tony may suffer from a bout of temporary insanity for the moment, but I am certain that the trashing you've given him plus a few head-slaps of my own will make him realize his mistakes pretty soon."

"With all due respect, you're overrating your head-slaps, Gibbs. They have proved to be completely inefficient when it comes to Tony and Abby. I thought Tim's departure will finally open their eyes but they're still the same navel-obsessed, crybabies and poor losers' bunch than before."

Ziva suddenly turned about and kicked at a coffee table: the unlucky furniture tumbled over and sent magazines, TV guide and leaflets flying through the air before falling all over the carpet.

"**I still can't believe it, you know! Why on Earth did Tony said to Tim that we were dating? Why does he constantly have to torment Tim? Why does he always lie to him?"**

Silence followed Ziva's outburst; deep down, Gibbs knew the reasons for Tony slandering Tim. The Senior Agent had tried to explain many times that his behavior was one of a big brother concerned teasing his younger sibling but that was just a facade, a mask worn by Tony to hide his worst fear: being replaced in Gibbs' affections by Tim. The technology-addicted, gentlemanly, eager-to-please McGee, who simply could not hide his intelligence… He had represented a challenge against his will and Tony, for all his sport pretentions, simply could not bear the idea of competition and so, he had done his best to make sure McGee would always remain 'inferior' to him.

After Gibbs had retired to live in Mexico, Tim had been promoted to Senior Agent and the slandering had been toned down: newly-named Team Leader DiNozzo could not risk seeing McGee leaving as well, and the first signs of a friendship had appeared. Alas, after Gibbs had returned, this frail alliance had crumbled like a sandcastle: once again, Tony had been too preoccupied about his place in his mentor's life to give a damn about anything else, leaving a desolated Tim behind.

"Ziva, I take full responsibility for all this."

"**You** say you're responsible? But why?"

"Because it's the truth; I should have stopped that stupid sibling rivalry between Tony and Tim years ago. Tony is so scared of being replaced as my surrogate son that he would do anything, including lying, to make sure that it won't happen."

"I've warned Tony that his insecurity will play a dirty trick on him years ago, but of course he wouldn't listen!" retorted Ziva. "And now, look at us: our team is in shambles, we've been lucky to have kept our job so far and even Ducky's workplace is a mess."

"By the way, you'll have to pay for the damaged computer and printer, plus the scalpels and other sharp things you threw at Tony's head. We're not exactly in favor with Vance for the moment and I'd rather not have to ask him for a new Autopsy room for the moment."

"Of course, I'll pay for the damages!" exclaimed the angry young woman. "Unlike Abby, I always pay my debts."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, come on, Gibbs! Did you honestly think Abby would reimburse McGee for the expensive Armani jacket she deliberately tore to shreds, to make a blanket for that poor, innocent, sweet dog that he had so cruelly shot at like the monster he is? When pigs fly, as the American saying goes!"

"I told Abby to pay for that goddamned jacket!" roared the Team Leader.

"She swept your orders under the rug, but that's hardly surprising coming from her; she knew you'd forget about the Armani right after having mentioned it and Tim is too much of a gentleman to ask Abby for money. Tony had thought it hilarious that 'Probie' was punished twice in a day by Abby and you, for having made such a fuss for a few dog bites."

"I never punished McGee for having been attacked by the mutt!"

"Well, with your indifference towards his wounds, it certainly looked it that way. Tim is now convinced that he shouldn't have wasted your time or anyone else's for that matter, since none of us have paid the slightest attention to him. Director Sheppard had to order him to get a check-up and, even then, Tim managed to go to the hospital only after everything was wrapped up, so his injuries would not interfere with the solving of the case."

Gibbs glared at the young woman; with hindsight, he had to admit he had been extremely careless with Tim's health and state of mind, but Abby had been making such a scandal at the Lab, protecting the dog at all costs – even from Director Sheppard – that she had monopolized his attention, as usual. Once the case had been solved and the dog cleared of all wrongdoings, Gibbs had not given a second thought about his agent, suffering in silence.

"McGee should have come to my house; we would have talked about all this over a glass of Bourbon and it would have cleared the air between us. He knows my door's always open…"

"No, he doesn't, Gibbs. Your door may be open for Abby, Tony and me, but Tim is convinced you have excluded him and, unlike Tony, he's not the kind to beg for a place in your heart. Remember that confrontation in the conference room, just before he left for Afghanistan? He said, and I quote: _"__I know what I am not: golden boy, favorite or adopted child". _I've never been so ashamed of myself in my life! While the three of us were parading about the attention we've received from you, it left nothing for McGee, not even a breadcrumble! All he ever got was mud coming from the boots of people walking in front of him and now, he'd rather swallow dust in Afghanistan than stay with the team – especially after Tony's little lying number at MTAC."

"_Tim always had a place in my heart! He's had it from Day One!"_ thought Gibbs but he pressed his lips against one another to prevent the words from escaping his mouth, his pride silencing him just in time.

A long moment of silence followed Ziva's sad statement, and then the silver-haired man's mobile phone buzzed inside the inner pocket of his jacket. Glancing at the screen, Gibbs realized it was a text message sent by Ducky: he pressed on a button and read:

"_**ANTHONY'S STAYING OVERNIGHT AT HOSPITAL. NOTHING SERIOUS BUT DOCTORS NOT TAKING ANY CHANCES."**_

"It's from Ducky; Tony's going to survive the trashing you've given him."

"More's the pity," shot Ziva back.

"I swear to you that Tony is going to repair the damages he has done, just like the ones you did in Autopsy. Within four days and with Sam's help, we'll be able to talk to McGee and explain the whole thing to him."

"Don't take his forgiveness for granted, Gibbs. Maybe Tim will appreciate this attempt to set the record straight, but I'm not certain he will forget anytime soon this umpteenth lie from Tony. He's in a war zone and this kind of place changes people quickly – in fact, I'm ready to bet Tim is maturing a lot and he'll be a new person after he returns to DC. I've seen it happening before, Gibbs: some of my Mossad colleagues came back from missions in danger zones completely changed, and it's painful to watch persons morphing into hard, embittered beings without any empathy left."

"I've seen it in the Marines as well, but Tim will never become a monster: he has too much goodness for that!"

"True, but he may not show the same amount of patience towards Abby's whims or Tony's lousy jokes so it may be wise you'd tell them both to change their attitude before they get close and personal with some fighting techniques that Tim has acquired during his mission abroad. Otherwise, I can forecast very somber times for our team!"

"Predict dark times."

"Whatever!"

* * *

><p><em>Three days later, at ISAF…<em>

"Are we ready to go, Roberts?" asked Tim with his laptop tucked under his arm, looking forward for their next trip in the desert for another test run of The Watcher.

The Hummers were already running, Sergeant Raff was supervising the loading of the gear by Privates Winter and Emerson; EOD1 (EWS) Spikerman was checking the contents of his bag for the last time and Private Fredericks was sliding behind the wheel of the second vehicle. All the guys seemed to be accounted for and Tim felt relieved at the thought of these good, reliable men escorting him for a new test on The Watcher.

Today was not going to be easy; dark clouds have gathered all night and the forecast had predicted thunderstorms. According to Corporal Roberts, this kind of weather could only spell trouble: muddy roads, bad visibility, possible flash floods and claps of thunder that could deaden the sound of gunfire coming from ambushed enemies, especially near the mountains where they had thousands of hideouts. Tim was quite aware it was not the best conditions but The Watcher had to be tested to its extreme limits to make certain it would protect soldiers in any given circumstances, including in the worst tempests. Stephenson had not been enthusiastic **at-all** at the prospect of letting McGee go on a patrol in such a difficult weather – even if he had not said anything out loud, but Tim was becoming good at reading the General's facial expressions and he had been genuinely moved by the older man's concern about him.

However, Stephenson had approved the test, under the condition that Tim would not stray from the route initially planned or make more runs than needed: _"You do your magic but once it's finished, you go straight back to ISAF, son, and you stop for nothing!"_. Tim was quite aware of the difficulty of this test but at least, he would have his 'usual suspects' to watch his back, including Roberts. It was the reason why he had promised Stephenson to obey orders to the letter: one run in the desert under the foulest weather, and then everybody would be back safe and sound at the base.

"Er, not yet, Lieutenant," answered the Corporal with a slight hesitation in his voice. "Something came up and I haven't gotten the time to tell you."

"What is it?"

"Sorry, Sir, but Lieutenant Lay won't be coming. He's sick in bed, as we speak."

Tim was taken aback by the news: the field doctor would not be amongst them for The Watcher's test run? But they could not go on patrol without a member of the medical staff!

"Oh, no! But what happened to him?"

"Missing a few details, Sir, but somehow he got very sick last night – in the lines of vomiting, high fever, sweating – and so he went straight to the hospital; the doctors didn't want to take a chance and put him in isolation straightaway, as they feared that somehow he could have developed malaria."

"Oh, my God! I hope it's only a false alarm," said Tim, horrified at the thought of Lieutenant Lay (the silent, solid doctor) could fall victim of a disease that killed about two thousand persons per day.

"Yeah, so do I, Sir. Lieutenant Lay's a good man."

Tim's first thought was that the patrol would be cancelled and, for the briefest moment, he felt pretty cross – and mentally kicked himself one second later: the whole situation was certainly not of the field doctor's fault and getting mad would not help. The only thing left to do was to report to Stephenson's and ask for orders... but then, Tim's emeralds widened in realization: the patrol could not be cancelled, since the men were hurrying up in loading the Humvees!

"Em, Roberts? Why are the men getting ready to leave, if we're missing one of our own?"

"That's the thing, Sir: as soon as I heard that Lieutenant Lay was out of commission, I took the liberty to report to General Stephenson and he searched for a substitute at once, a competent doctor we could trust to not ask embarrassing questions; the first three times, he hit rock bottom: Captain Rogerson has surgery all day, Captain Ferro is out on a mission and Captain Ringwald is barely recovering from a leg wound he sustained weeks ago. There was just only one person available to do the mission but I'm not certain you're going to like it..."

Tim had a sarcastic smile: "As long as it isn't Sergeant Miller..."

"Oh, no, Sir!" exclaimed Roberts, looking horrified at the idea of ISAF's worst soldier would come along with them.

In fact, thought the Corporal _in petto_, it would be better for everyone's sake if Miller was locked up in the brig. According to Sergeant Raff and Private Emerson, the anger-prone Sergeant had been lurking in the shadows of the garage where McGee's Humvee was parked, acting like he was expecting something but fled like a nervous mouse at the slightest noise. Raff had said he would not have minded punching his colleague on the nose, as his behavior was irritating to say the least – but Roberts could not have helped but feeling that something more was at hand, without being able to identify what. He had not told Stephenson about it, since the General would not have appreciated his Corporal's groundless suspicions.

"So, Roberts, to whom did the award went to?" asked Tim.

"Well, Sir, the winner is..."

At the same moment, a shadow moved at the corner of Tim's eyes and he immediately recognized the woman in fatigues, carrying a doctor's bag in one hand and a backpack in another.

"Captain Wilkins, Sir," concluded Roberts with a knowing half-smile.

Tim almost dropped his laptop on the ground, out of surprise of seeing Aimee ready to accompany them on a patrol... And during one of The Watcher's test runs, to boot! Roberts, sensing the Lieutenant and the Captain had a few things to say to one another in private, seized the opportunity to salute before slipping away discreetly from the scene and head towards the Humvees.

"Aimee... Oh God, I can't believe it... Aimee, what are you doing here?" Tim finally managed to say in a low voice, shocked beyond words at the sight of the gorgeous woman in a garage, at the crack of dawn, and right in the middle of the usual chaos preceding the departure of a patrol.

"As I am certain Corporal Robert has already told you, I'm coming with you... _beloved_," whispered Aimee back, insisting sensuously on the last word.

"But you can't!" exclaimed Tim.

"And why not, pray tell?" asked the young woman, her face turning severe instantly.

"Aimee, you don't understand... We're going to patrol an area out in the desert, under a thunderstorm and it's dangerous!" protested Tim.

"No, **you're** the one who don't understand, Lieutenant McGee. I've been on patrol in the desert before, way before you and I met. I've tended to wounded soldiers under scorching sun, snowstorms and while dodging hails of bullets: it has never stopped me from doing my duty and when General Stephenson ordered me to replace Lieutenant Lay, I obeyed at once."

"Stephenson told you to come along?"

"Yes, of course; he knew I was the only person qualified to do the job since Rogerson, Ferro and Ringwald are busy elsewhere."

Aimee did not mention the strange feeling she had in the General's office. Stephenson had looked at her with a no-nonsense glare and for a moment, Aimee had wondered what she could have possibly done to have angered the older man – until a little voice had whispered inside her brains that somehow he had gotten aware of her relationship with the smart Lieutenant. But before she could start to panic, Stephenson had told her to grab her gear and run to garage 12, where McGee and his team would be waiting for their new field doctor. Inwardly very pleased at the thought of going on a mission with the man of her heart, Aimee had practically flew out of the General's office to run at the hospital, collect her things and dash for the garage, worried that Tim would leave ISAF without her.

"Please don't take it bad, but... I hate the idea of you being in danger. I know it sounds silly..."

"It **is** silly, Tim. For your information, **this** is not a stage prop used in theaters to scare off the audience," said Aimee while tapping gently on the cross of the Beretta M9 at her belt. "I've spent ten years in the Navy, I'm a crack shot and I've never hesitated in defending myself of my teammates against enemies. So, are we going to stand here in this garage talking our heads off like stupid tattle-tales, or are we actually going to shake a leg and get this circus on the road?"

Tim suddenly blushed; he had been acting like a complete idiot! Aimee had far more military experience than him and he was treating her like a wet-behind-the-ears probationer! Even worse, he was trying to use their love to keep her aside, regardless of General Stephenson's direct orders! His attitude was borderline insulting and, if there had not been an audience, he probably would have his face slapped six ways to Sunday for ever doubting Captain Wilkins' skills and commitment to duty.

"I'm sorry. I've been a fool. I just hope that one day you will… forgive me," said Tim with a low voice, his head bent and inwardly wishing for the Earth to open and swallow him whole to end his misery.

Aimee feigned to adjust the grip she had on her medical bag but, in the same movement, she took hold of Tim's hand and squeezed.

McGee pulled his eyes away from the ground and looked down at their hands. He squeezed back – tightly – and Aimee whispered:

"You're already forgiven, beloved. How can I stay mad at a lovely man like you?"

The red on Tim's face got a shade darker but he nonetheless replied in a low voice: "Captain Wilkins, your courage is as beautiful as your face."

Roberts glanced at the couple and let out a sigh: foul weather, difficult driving conditions, and two lovebirds in the same Humvee. The mission was not going to be easy, indeed!

TBC...


	50. An abduction

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- A big 'thank you' to all my reviewers who inquired about my health; I'm feeling much better, thank you! :o)

- An angst-filled chapter that I had a hard time to write… Sorry for any inadequacies!

_- Tinnitus_ (Latin word, "ringing") is the perception of sound within the human ear, not including the perception of sound outside the ear (from Wikipedia).

- Details about the RPG-7 launcher come from Wikipedia.

- Words between brackets [ ] are in Pashto language.

- The poem is from _The Young British Soldier_ by Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936).

- To Zik: I'm afraid you've guessed right!

- To None: Gibbs is too used to cover for Tony and Abby that it is a conditioned reflex.

- To Guest: this is an action-packed chapter!

- To Sambrea: sorry to make you wait but with work and on-line studies, writing time is kind of short ;-)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 50: An abduction<strong>

_Beep… Beep… Be-zzzz-eep… Beep… Be-zz-eep…_

Tim grimaced slightly at the sounds of The Watcher's running: electrostatic discharges were messing with the detecting device's functions and it was no wonders, considering the downpour they were under. The thunderstorms had proven to be worse than predicted by weather forecasters: heavy rain, blinding lightning, howling winds and a major electrical chaos above their heads were indeed making the Humvees' progresses through the narrow valley difficult. Visibility was so low, one would have imagined being in the middle of the night instead of plain day and the drivers had a hard time keeping their vehicles on muddy, slippery roads. The pouring rain banged against the Humvees' roofs so loudly that the soldiers had to shout to make themselves being heard and, at some moment, hailstones had started to fall – making the patrolmen's misery complete and they counted their blessings for being on their way back to ISAF! Just the time to get out of the valley and then, the Humvees would reach a tarmac road heading for Kabul and the safety of the base.

The Watcher kept on working but the lightning's interferences were making Tim's job difficult. The electronic maps of their immediate surroundings (roads, high mountains, flowing torrents) were shown on the laptop's screen, complete with every rock detected by the program, but the heavenly electric discharges produced major shock waves through the atmosphere that were disrupting The Watcher's functioning, with the maps' drawings being upset by static. Deep down, Tim was worried that those interferences would slow down the program, even cause a major failure and so, leaving them blind and deaf in a hostile environment. So far, The Watcher had resisted to everything – a bumpy ride in spite of the vehicles' double-wishbone suspension, a violent thunderstorm and the growing anxiety of the soldiers accompanying him – but Tim knew not to push his luck and, even thought he wanted his program to be tested in the worst conditions possible, he had readily agreed when Roberts had told him it was time to head back to the base. McGee would not compromise the safety of the soldiers accompanying him just to indulge his scientific curiosity.

Especially not the safety of **one** person in particular…

_Be-eeeeep-zzz-ep… Beep… Beep… Beep… Be-zzkkkkk-eep…_

Tim was back-seating in the Humvee with Roberts at the wheel and Private Winter riding shotgun, as usual. But Spikerman, who would have normally seat next to Tim, had been replaced by Doctor Wilkins and the young man had thought he would go crazy with the presence of his loved one so close to him. But, to her credit, Aimee had not moved an inch from her seat and she had kept a firm eye on the window at all times, her attention entirely focused on their surroundings – or, more accurately, to the very little view she had through curtains of raindrops. She had not asked a single question about the presence of Tim's laptop resting on his thighs and The Watcher's constant beeping had not made her raise an eyebrow, acting like the impeccable soldier she was and making McGee think what good he had done in his life to deserve such a smart woman as Aimee Wilkins in his life.

General Stephenson had been right in his description of the lovely doctor, stating she had her head screwed on right, obeying without wasting everybody's time with questions: any other of Tim's former girlfriends would have wanted explanations and Abby would have thrown in a tantrum until Tim would relent and let her into the secret – regardless of the confidential status of The Watcher, but since she was Gibbs' favorite she was entitled to stick her nose in everyone else's business, right?

_Beep… Be-zzzzkkkkkk-eeeeep… Be-zzzz-eep… Beep… Be-zz-eep…_

Tim grimaced again and raised his head: his eyes met Roberts' in the rear-view mirror and they exchanged a knowing glance. The weather was getting worse and it would be a matter of time before a thunderbolt would strike the ground nearby – causing Tim's laptop to be affected by an energy spike and ruining its network interface or the power supply, causing the computer to shut down completely. It was high time to go home!

Tim nodded in the direction of Roberts and the Corporal got the silent message: inwardly thanking his lucky stars for Lieutenant McGee's reasonable nature, he pressed his foot on the accelerator and the Humvee roared accordingly, its four-wheel drive digging hard in the mud and rocks in an effort to get out of this valley as soon as possible. Sergeant Raff, who was driving the second Humvee with Private Fredericks, Private Emerson and EOD Spikerman on board, did the same thing; they had done their duties efficiently and they had to go back to the base in one piece for their mission to be a success.

_Beep… Beep... Be-zzzzkkkkkk … Beep… Beep… Be-zzzzz-eep…_

A small movement at Tim's right side startled him ever-so-slightly, and his heart started to beat increasingly louder as he realized Aimee had stopped her watching through the window to look at him. Before he could stop himself, Tim grabbed the doctor's hand and squeezed it tightly. Aimee smiled, whispered: _'I love you'_ and then returned her attention to the window. Tim hunched his shoulders in a desperate attempt to hide his face behind the laptop's screen from Roberts' inquisitive gaze even though he knew it was a losing battle: the Corporal already knew about him and Aimee and he seemed to have a knack for spotting everything!

_Beep… Beep... Be-zzz… Beep... BeepBeepBeepBe-zzzzzz!_

"Wait!" exclaimed Tim.

"What is it, Sir?" asked Roberts, instantly on the alert. Winter grabbed his weapon.

"I can't tell for certain, the lighting is making too much interference but I think I have spotted something..."

_BeepBeepBeepBeepBeepBeepBe-zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzkkkk kkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk!_

At the same moment, a thunderbolt hit the ground at about one mile ahead of the Humvee with an ear-splitting sound; as a result, the laptop computer shut down completely: the screen turned dark and the beeping stopped.

"Holy God! My laptop has crashed!" exclaimed Tim.

"Can it be fixed, Sir?" asked Winter.

"I'm not sure... But the program has detected something near us, I'm sure of it!"

McGee started to type in the earnest, but his efforts proved to be vain: the laptop was still unresponsive and a suspicious smell of melted plastic started to invade the Humvee's passenger compartment, proving his worst fears: the network interface had been somehow damaged by the electricity overload created by the lighting.

At the same moment, Aimee asked:

"Do you hear this rumble? It's doesn't sound like thunder..."

The woman never had the chance to finish her sentence: a violent shock, like something huge hitting the vehicle, knocked the Humvee on its right side and rolled it over the muddy ground, making its unfortunate passengers fly all over the place like dices shaken inside a cup. Tim banged his head against the passenger compartment's roof, making him see stars and bite at his own tongue; Roberts was holding on the wheel for dear life; Winter shouted and then remained still; Aimee screamed and got slammed against Tim; the laptop fell to the Humvee's floor but, ironically, the violence of the impact jump-started it: the screen's went back to life and The Watcher's started beeping like crazy, its detection devices 'sensing' the presence of enemies.

_BeepBeepBeepBeepBeepBeepBeepBeepBeep!_

After a few awful seconds, the Humvee's weight stopped the rolling and turning but the vehicle remained upside down, trapping its passengers inside. Tim saw a huge boulder rolling right at them and he screamed in terror while trying to shield Aimee with his arms; the rock smashed into the automobile and the windows broke under the impact, letting in pouring rain and debris. One sharp pebble flew across the compartment and hit Tim in the face, right under his left eye: blood flew from the cut he sustained but McGee was too full of adrenaline to notice it, as well as his twisted right foot.

With horror, he noted Private Winter was inert and covered with blood; Roberts was weakly struggling to get the driver's door open. An acrid smoke could be smelt and Tim realized the Humvee's fuel tank had been damaged in the fall: gas was leaking and the vehicle could explode any minute. He had to get Aimee, Roberts and Winter out of here!

The Watcher kept on blinking on the laptop's screen (_BeepBeepBeepBeepBeepBeepBeepBeepBeep!)_, signaling hostiles nearby. The electronic sound galvanized Tim's courage and he shouted at the top of his lungs:

"Aimee! Aimee!"

"Tim..." gasped the woman – coughing, covered with blood, in shock but with her Beretta in hand, ready to fight.

"Get out of the Humvee! I smell smoke – it's going to explode!"

McGee gave a mighty kick at one of the remaining windows with his damaged foot and groaned from the pain, but thankfully the glass shattered at the first try. Aimee wasted no time crying or arguing; instead, she crawled to freedom and once she was out of the vehicle, she hid behind one of the still-turning wheels to take a look at their situation.

The other Humvee had stayed on the road but was under heavy fire; in spite of the pouring rain, Aimee could see huddled silhouettes on the mountains' slopes and explosions coming from fired shotguns or grenades being thrown, on top of the booming sounds of the thunderstorm. Sergeant Raff was firing from the opening of the Humvee's roof while Spikerman, Fredericks and Emerson had gotten out of the vehicle to fire at will at the unknown assailants. Aimee realized with horror that huge blocks of rock had come apart from the mountains and rolled down the slopes before crashing down in the valley; one boulder had hit their Humvee, knocking it off the road and sending it in a riverbed, which flood was increasing stealthily from the downpour coming from the skies.

And Tim had been right: the Humvee's fuel tank had been torn open from the accident and the chassis was in flames; with the gas leaking from the damaged reservoir, it would be a matter of minutes before the Humvee would entirely caught fire before exploding.

"Tim! Get out of here!" screamed Aimee; she aimed her Beretta and started firing, as hostile silhouettes were coming closer to Raff's group.

But McGee could not imagine leaving the vehicle without Roberts and Winter; uncaring about the rising flood of water coming inside the Humvee through the broken windows, he twisted his long frame through the passenger's compartment until one of his hands grabbed Winter by the collar, and Roberts by the shoulder. The soldier did not react but Roberts moaned weakly:

"W-What...?"

"Roberts, let go of the wheel! I have to get you out of here!"

"W-What? N-No! Hafta... drive ya... ta safety..."

_BeepBeepBeepBeepBeepBeepBeepBeepBeep!_

"Roberts, the Humvee is totaled!" yelled Tim, realizing the Corporal was suffering from shock and probably from a bad case of _tinnitus_: ear ringing was not uncommon during car crashes, making communication with victims difficult. "Let go of the wheel, I'm going to drag you and Winter out! Hurry up, we're under attack!"

"N-No... Got my... orders..."

"Corporal, for crying out loud!" roared Tim, pulling hard at Winter's blouse and Roberts' shoulder to get both men out of the damaged vehicle. Winter was a dead weight but, thankfully, his legs were not trapped under his seat and his body came easily. But for Roberts, it was another story: the dazed Corporal simply refused to release his grip on the wheel; Tim glanced at his laptop, which was still functioning in spite of the flowing water, and looked in despair at the screen which was deploying a map of hostiles coming closer by the minute: The Watcher had detected a dozen of attackers armed with Jezail guns, grenades, automatic weapons? But that was enough firepower to destroy both Humvees!

Tim never hesitated: he raised his fist and punched Roberts on the head, making the Corporal lose consciousness for the second time in less than a minute. Aimee, who had taken cover behind a boulder, at a safe distance from the overturned vehicle, let out a breath of relief at the sight of Tim's long legs coming out of a broken window, then his whole body but her eyes widened in surprise as she saw her lover dragging out of the vehicle the inert bodies of their fallen comrades-in-arms.

She should have known: her Tim was not the kind to leave two soldiers trapped inside in a vehicle to die either by fire or drowned in a river bed, just to save his own skin!

"Tim! Over here!" called the doctor, gesturing to McGee to come near her.

Tim grimaced slightly as the boulder Aimee was hiding behind was way too little to protect four persons, two of them wounded, but staying in the vicinity of the burning Humvee was out of the question and the river's level was steadily rising, thanks to the torrents' wild water coming from the mountains to fall in the valley. Grunting from the effort, his foot aching inside his combat boots and his drenched uniform weighting on his body, Tim dragged Roberts and Winter across the ground to finally collapse near the doctor, hunching behind the small wall of rock that provided little protection.

"Tim! You've saved them!" exclaimed Aimee.

"Take a look at Roberts and Winter, will you? I'll cover you!" shot Tim back, getting his SIG Sauer from out of his belt.

Aimee had lost her bag in the crash but she always had medical supplies stashed in the pockets of her uniform and her combat belt, so she wasted no time in assessing the damage: Roberts had a severe concussion, judging from his unequal pupils, and he was drifting in and out of consciousness as wordless sounds were coming from out of his lips. But Winter was the most grievously hit: blood was pouring from wounds on his face, neck, shoulder and back; he was as pale as a ghost and being dragged on a hard ground could have worsened his injuries.

Tim glanced at the two wounded and inwardly prayed that Roberts and Winter would come out of this mess alive, but then his attention was drawn back to the fight ahead of them. Raff, Emerson, Fredericks and Spikerman were locked in a desperate struggle against the enemy, who had a better knowledge of the area and was used to fights in any given situation, including sky-breaking thunderstorms. They would hide behind rocks, bushes, nooks and crannies when lightning illuminated the clouds, and then take advantage of the ear-splitting thunder to throw grenades at the automobiles, in an effort to overwhelm the preys who could not distinguish the harmless sounds of thunder from the destruction made by the explosives until it would be too late.

In spite of the raindrops falling relentlessly on his face, Tim aimed his SIG Sauer and shot at a silhouette coming too at Emerson and Fredericks; the aggressor fell backwards in a blur of robes, his shotgun falling from his hand. Another round fired from Tim's gun stopped a man from throwing a grenade at Raff's Humvee: the device rolled on the mountain's slope like a snowball and exploded, killing two enemies.

A bullet flying too close forced McGee to take cover behind the boulder.

"Do you think Raff had the time to warn the base by radio?" he yelled at Aimee.

"Yes! But air cover won't be available in this weather!" retorted the woman back while trying to calm Roberts down – dizzy by the car crash, the Corporal was still trying to turn an absent wheel between his hands, making the tending to his wounds difficult.

Tim made a grimace: their situation was dire, indeed. No air cover, no possible evacuation by helicopter for the wounded and their only chance to 'detect' the enemy had been left inside a wrecked Humvee. And yet, in spite of the distance and the curtain of rain, Tim could see a small white light blinking inside the demolished passenger's compartment and the faint sound (_BeepBeepBeepBeep!)_ of The Watcher at work. The river's waters had not yet reached the laptop and the program was still running; in other circumstances, Tim would have been proud of his work.

Suddenly, Aimee screamed: "NO!" as a brilliant flash of light coming from a RPG-7 anti-tank rocket-propelled grenade launcher flew from the mountains and hit Raff's Humvee. The vehicle exploded in millions of debris, sending Fredericks, Spikerman and Emerson flying through the air but the Sergeant died instantly, the automobile turning into a sad funeral pyre made of twisted metal and burning fuel.

"Oh, God..." whispered Aimee. Tim suddenly heard roars of anger coming from their attackers. His knowledge of the Pashto language was recent but, thanks to Ducky's notes and the information handbook he had received on his first day at ISAF, he could recognize the dialect shouted by the enemies; his green eyes widened in shock as he recognized some of the words:

_[Stupid... Idiot... told you to shoot?... Maybe... have killed the lord!... Where is he?]_

"The lord?" repeated Tim, stunned by what his ears had picked.

"What?" whispered Aimee.

"The enemies are talking about a lord... Somebody's important, who is supposedly amongst us!"

"You understand what they're saying?"

"Just a few words," mumbled Tim, trying to take a peek from over the boulder. The violent light produced by the blaze allowed him to see the inert forms of Spikerman, Fredericks and Emerson lying on the ground, grievously wounded or worse. A man, dressed in dark robes and looking burlier than the others, was violently shaking by the scruff of the neck a smaller man holding a fuming RPG-7. The other attackers were obviously arguing with one another, torn between calming down the conflict within their ranks and lynching the wounded American soldiers. Tim tried to understand some more words but the deafening sounds of the thunderstorm made hearing difficult.

"What do you think? Did they imagine we were escorting a local bigwig, and that's the reason why they attacked us?" asked Aimee.

"I really don't know... But there's a guy out here, and he's the boss. I'll try to bring him down," said Tim, aiming at the burly guy. He fired a round but his target got somehow warned and roughly pushed the RPG-shooter in the line of fire before disappearing behind a bush.

"Damn! I missed him!" growled Tim, furious about his failure.

"Tim, we have to help the others!" said Aimee.

"But enemies will shoot at us as soon as we leave cover!"

At the same moment, hostiles started to shout again; Tim risked a glance from over the boulder and heard the big guy's voice vociferating from his hiding place:

_[Find him!... Bring him... Lord with computer! Take him... alive!]_

Tim's heart turned to lead; a lord with a computer, what in the world kind of nonsense was that? No, it could not be... But he was the only one in the convoy who had a laptop, so... The enemies had attacked the convoy because of _him_? They had shot at his friends, killed Sergeant Raff, just because of a kidnapping attempt targeting _him_?

(_BeepBeepBeepBeep!)_

And then, realization made McGee turn as pale as a ghost.

_**The Watcher!**_

Stephenson had warned Tim about shadowy people lurking about ISAF, always trying to find out lucrative secrets to sell to the highest bidder. The General had mentioned the CIA, other branches of the army but also local spies who would jump on the tiniest scrap of information to present it to tribesmen for favors. Somehow, someone had learned about the computer program in spite of the secrecy and had ratted McGee out; Tim's first reaction would have been to refuse this idea but the attack was proof enough that enemies had learned about The Watcher and, most importantly, about its handler, the brains behind Stephenson's special project to protect American soldiers!

It was useless denying it; arguing would only waste precious seconds of time. Enemies got wind of The Watcher and were determined to get their paws on it at all costs.

Tim never hesitated; he turned around, pointed his handgun at their wrecked Humvee and aimed at the blinking screen of his laptop, with The Watcher valiantly detecting and beeping in spite of the water nearly reaching its case.

"_Sorry, buddy,"_ thought Tim as he fired his weapon. The bullet hit its target dead on, making the laptop's screen explode on impact and The Watcher let out one last _Beep_ before quieting forever. The shot ran through the screen and ended in a pool of gas, igniting it: flames erupted instantly and the computer started to burn, its components melting under the heat in a crackle of plastic mixed with metal. Tim had no idea if they were going to survive the attack but, at least, The Watcher would not fall into the wrong hands.

The enemies roared again in anger; they were probably thinking about preys still trapped inside the Humvee and who would burn alive, depriving them of a potential booty. But the burly man was shouting louder than the others, prompting Tim to listen carefully:

_[No, fool! No!]_

Glancing behind the boulder, Tim saw with horror the RPG-wielder aiming his weapon right at them with a maniacal look on his face; the boss-man was gesturing to make him stop, but to no avail.

"Aimee! WATCH OUT!" shouted Tim. He made the movement to shield the doctor's body with his own but the warhead impacted in the burning Humvee, making it explode in a ball of fire sending shards of metal everywhere.

The violence of the shockwave made Tim fly in the air; he landed roughly several feet apart from Aimee and nearly passed out. He saw blinding flashing lights which neither came from the thunderstorm nor guns and his eyes were completely out of focus. He gasped and wheezed, fought for regaining his breath but his lungs seemed to have forgotten their basic functions. His hearing faded and was replaced by a bad case of _tinnitus_ as well, making him hear only a high-pitching sound which muffled everything else. Completely disorientated, Tim did not even notice he had been wounded by shrapnel and blood was running down from his scalp, arms and legs. His bullet-proof vest had protected his vital organs but the exploding vehicle had acted like a bomb, wounding every poor soul in its vicinity and that was precisely what the maniacal RPG-wielder had wanted.

It was when bullets hit the rocky ground nearby him that Tim began to regain his bearings. He gasped as his lungs filled themselves with smoke, causing him to cough painfully. Even without his hearing, he could feel people scurrying about, guns being fired and the heat from the inferno on his face, drying raindrops and blood strains. A long moment passed before he could remember where he was but a terrible sight made him froze in horror: enemies were standing just a few feet from Roberts and Winter. The soldier was still unconscious but the Corporal was still weakly moving his hands in a turning motion, prompting one tribesman to point his automatic weapon at Roberts, fearing the wounded man would be somehow of a threat.

Tim suddenly realized he was still holding his SIG Sauer in his hand. He aimed, fired and a hail of bullets stopped the enemy from killing Roberts. Startled by the sudden resistance, hostiles retreated in a panic; Tim rolled on his side, his arm still extended, ready to fire at anyone trying to hurt Winter, Roberts or... Aimee?

_Aimee?_

A movement on the ground made McGee freeze: Captain Wilkins was trying to get on her knees, her limbs aching as a woman's plagued with arthritis. Her crumpled form had been shielded from enemy's view by the heavy smoke coming from the burning Humvee but her struggles could warn hostiles of her presence. Tim opened his mouth to shout, to tell Aimee to stay low and stop moving, but only a feeble croaking sound came out of his throat, coupled with another coughing fit. Aimee finally managed to stand on her knees but her empty eyes and vacant expression scared Tim; she no longer looked like the lively woman he had come to know and love. She just stood still, her eyes on the ground, a statue covered with blood and grim kneeling in the middle of a battlefield and apparently indifferent to the danger so close.

"Aimee... (cough! cough!) Aimee!" croaked Tim. His loved one was in danger; she was apparently suffering from shell shock, she had lost her weapon in the blast and she would not be able to oppose any resistance in front of hostiles. Winter and Roberts were out of commission and McGee had no idea of what had happened to the other members of his group. He had to rescue her!

At the same time, Aimee looked at Tim with the saddest smile on her face. The young man suddenly realized he had been mistaken: she had not been staring at the ground but at something... _sharp, exiting from out of her throat_... A piece of shrapnel had run right through her neck like a knife, severing her jugular veins. Aimee's face was livid from the pain; her combat blouse and bullet-proof vest had turned dark from the fatal blood loss; she tried to say something in spite of her grievous wounds, but only managed to mouth the word _'Beloved'_ before a gush of blood came out of her mouth. Her eyes rolled in their sockets and she fell on the ground like a rag doll, the piece of shrapnel still firmly embedded in her neck.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" roared Tim, his heart shattering into a million fragments at the death of the courageous Captain. He tried to rush towards her but his traitorous limbs would not obey, making him collapse on the ground. Yelps of anger were suddenly heard and Tim found himself writhing on the ground, surrounded by hostiles and nearly asphyxiated by the smoke coming from the Humvee. He aimed his Sauer and fired through the dark fumes, succumbing to the madness and the pain of Aimee's death.

"Bastards! Bastards! Aimee, you killed Aimee!" tried to shout Tim, his bullets flying at random. He thought he heard a man screaming somewhere but, in his delirious state, Tim could not care less. He emptied his handgun's magazine while cursing his enemies, wanting to avenge his lover's death and his companions', hating the whole world and the hostiles and the thunderstorm and the war and everything else. His cries of pain made him miss the Pashto words coming from the burly man:

_[That's him!... The lord... Take him... alive!]_

The SIG Sauer's firing destruction ended with a sharp click coming from the bullets' magazine: Tim had run out of ammunitions. At the same moment, something poked him hard in the ribs; in spite of his dazed and wounded state, the young man reached under his bullet-proof vest and grabbed the knife tucked beneath it.

The Dark Dove sprang to life and Tim lashed out at a man coming too close to him: the blade hit the hostile straight in the leg, just like for Sergeant Miller in the showers' room. Ignoring the cries of pain, McGee somehow got on his feet and charged at the attackers with an animalistic roar. The Dark Dove's next victim was the RPG-shooter: the knife slashed at the man's face, cutting through his unkempt beard and whipping off the sadistic smile. The maniac let go of his shoulder-launched weapon and cried out like a baby, outraged that someone had dared to attack him.

_[Fools!... Take him!]_

Tim lashed at everything: shadows, smoke, bodies; his mind had been destroyed by the pain of having lost Aimee and all he had left was a killing frenzy, fueled by his broken heart and the outrage he felt. With his uncoordinated movements, his face covered with blood and the Dark Dove in hand, fighting in the middle of a fire, he looked like an avenging angel resolved in exterminating anyone who had caused the death of his woman.

A burly figure showed up just in front of Tim and the young man recognized the boss-man shouting orders. He raised his arm to strike but pain suddenly exploded inside his skull, making him fall hard on the ground. All his remaining strength left him and The Dark Dove slipped from his fingers, bouncing twice before landing between two rocks.

"Shit!" exclaimed the boss-man in a very American English, and then he shouted in Pashto _[NO!... Said... alive!]_

Tim could not move any longer. Overwhelming pain seized him and the wounds he had sustained were paralyzing his limbs; it would be a matter of seconds before the enemies would kill him or, worse, take him.

All of a sudden, a poem came out of his massacred brains with an absurd clarity:

_When you're wounded an' left on Afghanistan's plains_

_An' the women come out to cut up your remains_

_Jus' roll to your rifle an' blow out your brains_

_An' go to your Gawd like a soldier._

But Tim did not have this last option: he had no gun, no ammunitions left. He was wounded, lost in the Afghan mountains and entirely at the mercy of victorious hostiles. No one, not even General Stephenson, could help him; he had lost Aimee; The Watcher was burning inside the remnants of a Humvee set ablaze by an RPG warhead; all his team members had been killed; he was cold, broken and doomed. A solitary tear escaped from his emerald-colored eyes and got mixed with the rain pouring down on his face as he sent one last thought to his relatives, his friends, all the persons he had loved in his life.

_I'm sorry..._

But just as he was surrendering to despair, McGee saw the Dark Dove lying nearby him, soaked by the unforgiving and endless rain. A thunderbolt illuminated the skies and, for the briefest instant, Tim saw the blade shining in a strange light, like a spark of hope against all odds.

Darkness claimed Tim but the young man mumbled a name before rough hands grabbed him and drag him away from the battlefield:

"Ziva..."

TBC...


	51. A desolation

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- The Eyjafjallajökull eruptions from April 14 to 20, 2010 caused major disruptions, including an ash cloud forcing 20 countries to close their air space (from Wikipedia).

- To Guest: rest assured this story will be carried on 'till the end!

- To Ananas: thank you very much!

- To earthdragon: you will get some answers in this new chapter ;-)

- To Ollie260211: I'm trying to keep the updates on a weekly basis… generally on Saturdays.

- To Infinite: I'm sorry to have upset you about Aimee. It was very hard for me to 'off' her character but her love will make Tim strong.

- To Shokokaffee: I'm glad you are enjoying this story so much!

- To M-crazy: thank you for your review!

- To None: the news of Tim's disappearance will make a lot of people realize the errors of their ways towards him. As for Ziva, she will definitively earn her nickname of 'Ninja Girl'!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 51: A desolation<strong>

_NCIS headquarters, MTAC room…_

"_**We have lost McGee."**_

Four words.

Four little words having the effects of a bomb.

In the MTAC room, a stunned silence followed the painful admission for a few seconds. Director Leon Vance had remained agape out of shock, causing his trademark toothpick to fall on the floor but he did not even notice, out of shock from hearing this awful piece of news. Sam Elliott, in charge of the communication links, remained frozen on his seat, his blood turning into ice inside his veins. It was not possible; it was simply not possible! Things like this did not happen! Well, actually they did, but not to Special Agent Timothy McGee, the most amiable man of NCIS!

The two men stared at the screen displaying the image of Stephenson, unable to comprehend the enormity of the situation in Afghanistan. For a brief instant, the Director and the computer tech were tempted to deny the obvious, to convince themselves that the dreaded four words had never been uttered via the com link. But one look at the General's sad face made them realize quickly that refusing to accept the facts was childish and useless.

Agent McGee was missing.

He had disappeared.

He was _**lost**_!

"W-What did you say?" muttered Vance, his eyes widening as if they wanted to pop out of their sockets. Sam whimpered slightly and covered his mouth with both hands, not wanting to draw attention on him.

"I said, we have lost Agent McGee."

"But how? How could you have lost him?" repeated Vance.

"He was on patrol duty two days ago and the Humvees were ambushed by rebels in a valley at about a hundred miles from the base. Both vehicles were destroyed and three of my men were killed: Sergeant Raff, Captain Wilkins and Private Winters. Privates Fredericks and Emerson, EOD Spikerman and my _aide-de-camp_, Corporal Roberts were grievously wounded – in fact, we still don't know if they are going to make it as we speak. We didn't find McGee's body and the survivors are unable to give us a testimony of what happened during the attack. The whereabouts of Agent McGee are unknown."

"Are you telling me that you don't know where McGee is? **My** man?" said Vance; the horror he had felt was being replaced by righteous anger and outrage. He would have strangled the General through the screen if he had the power to do so.

Stephenson's grieving features hardened at those words: "He's **my** man as well, Vance, and I'm not taking his disappearance lightly."

Volcano Vance exploded with a violence equivalent to the Eyjafjallajökull eruptions:

"_**Go to Hell! You were supposed to protect him! You've assured me M**__**c**__**Gee wouldn't suffer anything more than a paper cut, and now he's lost in Afghanistan, at the mercy of the worst bastards the world has ever seen! You've lost my man, the most brilliant mind of my agency! You and your men and YOUR weapons, you have been fooled like a wet-behind-the-ears recruit! Can't you do anything right, goddamn you? I KNEW I SHOULD HAVE ASKED M**__**c**__**Gee TO COME BACK TO THE STATES, AFTER THAT FIRST ATTACK IN THE SHOWERS! and now you've managed to let a few rebels armed with antique guns to grab M**__**c**__**Gee and disappear!"**_

"That's enough, Vance! I understand you're worried about McGee, but throwing accusations at each other's face won't help the kid," retorted Stephenson firmly. "Everything has been done to find him but so far, we hadn't had any luck. It was a linear ambush during a major thunderstorm and the attackers were not armed only with Jezail guns, but also with automatic weapons and a rocket-propelled grenade launcher, judging from the damage inflicted on the Humvees. Sergeant Raff warned ISAF by radio before he was killed but neither planes nor choppers could get off the ground because of the foul weather; we sent a rescue party but by the time it reached the ambush site, we were too late: the only things to be found were burned vehicles, corpses and wounded men in dire need of help. The rescue party wasted no time bundling them in the Humvees and get them out of the tempest."

"**But what about M****c****Gee****?"** roared Vance.

"I'm telling you, the rescue party didn't find him or his body! I specifically told my men to look for him and they searched the wreckage that was strewn over the area with a fine comb, but to no avail. We had to wait until the thunderstorm was over to send planes – but even the pilots have found nothing. At first glance, it looks like a standard hit and run – rebels firing at American troops just to prove a point before melting away in the mountains, but…"

"**BUT?"**

"But the lack of a body tells me the ambush was a snatch and grab in the guise of a hit and run. McGee was the target and the terrorists have him."

"The Watcher," growled Leon Vance between his teeth, shaking like a mad dog. He remembered Gibbs' warning about roguish CIA Agent Trent Kort showing an unhealthy interest about Tim's presence in Afghanistan. In spite of the secrecy, hostile ears had learnt about a special project and it had ended in a bloodbath.

"Yes, but McGee has done his duty before being taken by enemies."

"What do you mean?"

Stephenson rose out of his chair and disappeared from view – leaving a very frustrated NCIS Director and a tearful technician behind, but thankfully the General came back in front of the camera within seconds, holding a twisted lump of melted plastic and metal, covered with soot: it looked like it had been cooked inside a blast furnace!

"What in the world is that?" barked Vance.

"This is all what remains of McGee's laptop; we found it in one of the Humvees, and apparently it had been hit by bullets before the vehicle exploded. It is my firm conviction that somehow, McGee has understood that he was the terrorists' target so he shot his computer to avoid The Watcher to fall into the wrong hands. As you can see, it is now completely useless so whatever the rebels were planning to do with McGee, they certainly won't be able to coerce him into using The Watcher against our troops."

Vance briefly closed his eyes at the news: McGee had destroyed his masterpiece just before being kidnapped; a lesser man would have given The Watcher out of abject terror, or struck a deal with the rebels to let him live in exchange of his help for destroying Coalition forces, but not Timothy McGee. The kid had thought he would die but he had refused to give the assailants the satisfaction of gaining a priceless trophy in the form of a computer program able to detect weapons miles around with a fantastic precision, and thus he had not hesitated ruining months of hard work to keep US troopers safe from harm.

"_To think his Admiral father thinks of the kid as a weakling… Fool, fool, triple fool!"_

"Vance?" asked Stephenson's voice, interrupting Vance's train of thoughts.

"**What are you going to do to find McGee?"** barked the Director back.

"Intel's on it. I have mobilized all of ISAF's forces and have requested the help of the NSWC; Navy Seals will investigate villages in the vicinity of the attack. Helicopters with SOF soldiers – the ones nicknamed the Snake Eaters – will scrutinize the desert and the mountains. We will interrogate anyone wandering around the ambush site – and I'll get answers, trust me. There are people out there who know what has happened; those rebels have relatives or friends scattered in every village and they certainly know who is involved in this attack. We..."

"**Give me a break, Stephenson! Even with technological gizmos, you won't be able to find terrorists hiding in Afghan mountains! They've been roaming those rocks for centuries and they know every cave; it will take years before you can flush them out – and McGee doesn't have years ahead of him!"**

"No, but he has days! The terrorists didn't go through all this trouble to kill him as soon as they've grabbed him. They want something from McGee, and they won't relent before they have it – meaning they will interrogate him and it gives us a little time to find him."

"**INTERROGATE?! You mean they're going to torture him!"**

Stephenson had a face like stone: "I'm afraid so, yes – but McGee won't tell them anything and the terrorists will waste precious time in trying to make him talk: it'll provide us the opportunity to find them, eradicate the bloody last one of them and free McGee."

Vance rubbed his hand over his face in a vain attempt to calm his nerves; otherwise, he would punch the screen bearing General Stephenson's face and destroying hardware would not help McGee. Vance knew Tim was tougher than he looked: he had proved it many times in the past, in spite of his co-workers' permanent sarcasms. One main example had been the time he had been beaten up by Saleem, in an effort to extort information from DiNozzo about their presence in Somalia. McGee had not uttered a word about the wounds he had sustained and, as on cue, no one in Team Gibbs had bothered to ask about them – unfortunately, Director Vance had read the reports and he had been appalled by the doctors' long litany of injuries: broken ribs, bruised kidneys, fractured jaw, one tooth knocked out, multiple bruises on the torso and back... And the kid had said nothing. He had simply taken his meds, gotten his check-ups and then had returned to his desk as if nothing had happened, whereas DiNozzo had been parading through the bullpen about his 'heroic actions' and how he had rescued David all by himself – another testimony of the Senior Agent's lousy sense of teamwork.

But would McGee be strong enough to resist torture from Afghani rebels? The kid was brilliant but he did not have an aggressive bone in his body; would he be able to survive? On top of everything, it was late October, meaning winter would hit Afghanistan soon. Sub-zero temperatures, snow and ice, a high risk of avalanches, unknown topography... McGee would not be able to escape. He would be trapped in the mountains, at the mercy of killers and the whole US armed forces were powerless to find him.

Sam was weeping but he did not care one way or the other if it looked unprofessional or unworthy of a federal employee; he liked McGee and the news of his kidnapping had hit him hard – not to forget a bunch of very impatient people waiting just outside the MTAC door for a chance to speak with Tim... It was not something bound to happen anytime soon, and this very idea was heartbreaking.

"Vance, McGee will be home for Christmas. I swear to you I'll find him."

"**WELL, YOU'D BETTER!"** exploded the Director. **"OTHERWISE, THERE'LL BE HELL TO PAY! AND I DON'T GIVE A DAMN ABOUT YOUR STRIPES, DO YOU HEAR? I CURSE THE DAY I'VE AGREED TO LOAN McGEE TO YOU! I SHOULD HAVE SENT EVERYTHING FLYING AND KEEP MY GENIUS RIGHT HERE AT NCIS, WHERE HE BELONGS!"**

"VANCE! ENOUGH! I've told you, I'm as motivated as you are to find McGee! I won't have any rest until he's back at ISAF safe and sound. I have personal motives to get Chris out of those odious terrorists' clutches!"

"Who?"

Stephenson looked embarrassed for a second, but he quickly reined in his emotions to answer with a steel-like voice:

"Never mind. Just know that I will tear apart this country, if needed, to find McGee. In the meantime, could you warn his family and his colleagues?"

"Yeah, right – as if Admiral Asshole could be interested in his son's plight! He'd as soon yell all over the neighborhood that it was something bound to happen, considering McGee's so-called 'uselessness' and the inanity of NCIS. That imbecile's ranting and raving will inevitably reach DC, creating a firestorm!"

"Vance, you can't allow Admiral McGee to make a scandal!" exclaimed a pale Stephenson, appalled at the idea. "It'll sign the kid's death warrant!"

"I am quite aware of that!" shot the Director back. "But like you've said, the terrorists didn't go through all this trouble to snatch away _**my**_ man just for the fun of it. Meaning they want something from the kid and since The Watcher is a goner, there's only one thing left: money!"

"What? That's impossible!"

"Just think for once in your life, Stephenson! Since the kidnappers got wind of The Watcher, it can only mean they got an idea of who Tim McGee **really** was – the son of a US Admiral, a high-ranking officer in the Navy! You can bet your ass we're going to receive a video pretty soon of McGee tied up, beaten within an inch of his life and held inside a cave, while his captors would read up their demands for ransom while courageously hiding their faces under hoods."

Stephenson pondered Vance's words; a few days ago, he would have laughed out loud at the idea of anybody finding about McGee or The Watcher. The kid had been extremely cautious about his moves around the base and the only persons knowing about the special project had been the General and Roberts. Wilkins, God rest her soul, had been totally unaware of Tim's true identity and her loyalty had been unquestionable. But the past forty-eight hours had wiped out Stephenson's certainties: three dead, four wounded and a missing man had confirmed there was a rat at ISAF; someone had sold McGee to terrorists and the General was livid with rage. Whoever the guilty party was, he would pay for this with his life!

But Stephenson's paternal instincts were also crying out in anguish at the thought of a young man – someone he liked very much – was in mortal peril, helpless, wounded and his life depending on the whims of a bunch of lunatics. The General wanted to bang his head against the walls out of sheer frustration; it made it twice, twice in his life that he had not been able to protect his son! Only years in the service prevented him to do so; McGee counted on him and Stephenson would be damned to Hell before he would let panic overcome him.

However, Leon Vance had a valid point. If the kidnappers had learnt about Tim, then they would certainly ask for money. Foolish to kill a goose that could lay a potential golden egg, even with the US government's politics about ransom demands.

"Terrorists know we don't yield to blackmail," said the General.

"That's true, but an Admiral may be more... _flexible_ in his attitude than our government, right? Terrorists are scraping for money; we have been draining their bank accounts for years; the opium fields in Afghanistan are systematically destroyed; their bigwigs are either dead or on the run, unable to finance attacks or bombings; drug trafficking isn't as profitable as it used to be, so what's left to get the necessary funds to buy guns from unscrupulous arm dealers? The good ol' kidnapping of a potentially-rich person! Admiral McGee won't commit career suicide by refusing to pay a ransom for his only son – he won't care about the outcome, either Tim comes out of this ordeal alive or not but he will insist on paying so at least, he'll gain an aura of_ 'heroic father who had tried to save his son in spite of the US government's interdictions'_. As for the rest, he has washed his hands of Tim years ago!"

It was Stephenson's turn to rub his hand over his eyes in an effort to keep his anger under control: yelling obscenities towards Admiral Robert McGee would only be a waste of time.

"We still have a bit of time ahead of us," said the General. "The kidnappers won't ask for a ransom before a few days, once they're sure we'd be frantic of worry about McGee and they're safe and sound in their hideout. Keeping a hostage is no simple business: kidnappers need discreet places and there are villages all over the mountains, people who could ask annoying questions about the presence of a wounded, shouting American nearby – plus, terrorists live under constant fear of denunciation. They may scare people around but a villager can be bolder than the others and report to a patrol about a stranger being held against his will."

"_Especially if I spread the rumor about a vast sum of money offered in exchange of information about my lost boy," _thought Stephenson_. "Terrorists are not the only ones who crave for money – the rest of the Afghani population do it as well, especially after living in a country devastated by war and poverty for more than thirty years. The local population hate terrorists and they wouldn't mind seeing them blown to smithereens – by whatever mean possible. I also count on centuries-old grudges between local tribes, and how the possibility of a reward could prompt a man to reveal that his hated rival has been seen dragging a struggling foreign soldier in the direction of a special mountain..."_

Vance remained silent for a minute. Asking for help from locals was a perilous plan, but it could work – in fact, it could keep Tim's kidnappers on the edge, and prevent them from moving their hostage. Trapped in the mountains and terrified at the idea that the local population would turn against them, the rebels would have no other choice than to maintain McGee alive as a human shield – giving Stephenson's men more time to find him. But Vance was a seasoned veteran in the world of spies and politicians: he knew Stephenson had something on the back of his mind, that sending patrols and questioning locals only formed the tip of the iceberg.

"I hope to God you know what you're doing, Stephenson," said Vance, looking daggers at the General's image on the screen. "If McGee is _**ever**_ brought home in a body bag..."

"He won't. He'll come back to the States on his own two feet. Just remember that I've never broken my word in my life, Vance."

The screen turned into rainbow colors and the Director glanced at Sam: the poor guy was silently crying, obviously upset. Vance recalled Tim always being nice towards the computer tech, making small talk with him before his weekly review and thanking him every time before the communication was cut off. No doubts Sam had been sensible by those marks of politeness and he had grown attached to McGee, just to be devastated by the news of his kidnapping.

"_Welcome to the club, kid,"_ thought Vance as he squeezed Sam's shoulder in a gesture of reassurance, before raising his hand and typing his PIN code on the electronic lock; the door slid open and Vance almost bumped into Special Agent Gibbs, who was standing on the MTAC's threshold with a face like thunder.

"_Oh, Hell! I didn't think this day could go any worse, but I was wrong!"_ moaned Vance inwardly.

"**LEON! We could hear you shouting from the bullpen. What's wrong with McGee?"** howled the Team Leader. Vance noted the presence of Agents DiNozzo and David, as well as Doctor Mallard's and his assistant Jimmy Palmer on the catwalk. In other circumstances, he would have asked the reasons of their presence so close to the MTAC room but the kidnapping had re-shuffled all the cards Vance had been playing for weeks – Hell, the whole game had run aground, but McGee would be alone to pay the debts.

"My office, now," said the Director with a resigned sigh.

Ziva's beautiful features turned into stone and her hands curled into fists.

Gibbs clenched his jaw so hard his teeth were in danger of shattering into a million pieces.

Ducky rested his hand against his chest, in a vain effort to calm down his racing heart. Instinctively, Jimmy offered his arm to the elderly doctor.

Tony felt icy-cold shivers running down his spine, and the realization that the situation could not be solved with a joke and a movie reference finally dawned on him.

TBC…


	52. A detention

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- A lot of Tim-angst in this chapter… Yu be warned! ;-)

- The first 'Iron Man' movie, starring Robert Downey Jr., was released in theaters on May 2008.

- Words between brackets [ ] are in Pashto language.

- To None: the Dark Dove will be involved in making Sergeant Miller talk in a painful way… but it won't be Ziva who will wield it.

- To McGivaShipper: your wish will be granted! xD

- To Earthdragon: Volcano Vance has not finished exploding, but more pressing matters have put his eruption on 'hold' but it's a temporary situation.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 52: A detention<strong>

The impact of a fist on his jaw sent Tim McGee backwards, and only the fact he was bound to a chair nailed to the ground spared him from falling. Saliva and blood escaped from his cut lips and his jaw got half-paralyzed by the pain but he nonetheless managed to croak out:

"McGee. Lieutenant. 036471."

"ENOUGH!" yelled the burly man before raising his fist and striking at the young man again. This time, he hit Tim on the eyebrow – the one which had been injured during the attack – but McGee refused to cry out. His tormentor had been punching him for what seemed hours, right after Tim had regained consciousness hours ago in a cold, dark, craggy cave, tied to a chair with ropes and wearing only his boxers. His wounds had vaguely been tended to but he had a splitting headache, he felt nauseous and he would have killed for a drop of water, but the worst pain was inside his heart.

Aimee was dead.

His cherished one had been murdered.

Beautiful, smart, honest Aimee… The only woman who had truly loved him, was gone.

His friends were dead. Corporal Roberts, Stephenson's favorite _aide-de-camp_, Winter, Sergeant Raff, the Spider-man, Fredericks… God, even little Emerson… All dead, massacred, their lives snuffed out in a maelstrom of fire and bullets. Good men, brave soldiers, destroyed by madness and hate and left to die in the mud, thousands of miles from home.

His friends, the woman he loved… dead.

And the man responsible for this devastation was standing right in front of him, yelling question after question, lashing out in rage every time McGee would state his name, rank and serial number.

"Listen to me, smart-ass," said the torturer as he grabbed a handful of Tim's short hair, slick with sweat. "I know you're not a US Marine; I also know you're an NCIS agent so it's useless to play the brave little fighter with me. NCIS isn't at the top of the food chain of federal agencies and you are not trained to endure interrogation like FBI or CIA. And don't bother denying your identity; I got this information on good authority – from a silver-haired jerk with a fondness for making other people's lives Hell."

Tim weakly shook his head in a vain attempt to free his hair from the burly man's grip, but to no avail.

"Keep still, you little bastard! Or else I'll cut your balls with this – do you remember this blade?"

McGee glanced downwards and saw a knife pointed right at his abdomen; his desperation increased by the hundred at the sight: his tormentor was wielding the Dark Dove against him.

"Yes, I see you remember your own knife. A beauty, I daresay! It has caused a bit of damage amongst my friends and they are quite crossed after you – especially Omar, who will limp for the rest of his goddamned life, and Massoud wants your head for having dared to cut his beard. I have managed to convince them about not killing you straightaway, since you're supposed to be worth your weight in gold but I can't guarantee to stop them from mutilating you!"

"McGee. Lieutenant. 036471."

Another punch; Tim hoped it would send him back to unconsciousness but the burly man had other ideas. Raising the Dark Dove, he placed the blade against Tim's throat and pressed on, making the young man gasp for air.

"Oh no you don't, smarty. No blackouts allowed while I'm talking, do you hear? Your very life depends on me and you'd better obey my orders if you know what's good for you, **got it?** Now, as I was saying, your real identity has been given to me by an old bastard who, for some reason, seems to be very concerned about you, to the point of transgressing secrecy and revealing your presence in Kabul."

Tim's heart stopped beating for a second; the 'old bastard' fitted Gibbs' description but he would never give information on him to such a disreputable individual. Besides, Director Vance had made it clear that his teammates were not to ask questions about his whereabouts and they had been banned from the MTAC room – well, apart from Tony, who had managed to steal a few minutes of communication only to boast about him dating Ziva; he had not even bothered to ask Tim about his location in Afghanistan.

So, ruling Gibbs out, the only 'old bastard' in Tim's life with enough nerve to ignore discretion orders was his father, but… that was impossible! The Admiral would rather swallow mud than talk about his son to anyone, especially to a person located on the other side of the world, right in the middle of a war zone!

"Funny thing is, he hired me to keep an eye on you; talk about a stroke of luck!" continued the man, ignoring Tim's tiny gasp of surprise. "I got to watch over a Daddy's boy who happens to be a fed in an undercover mission – because a degree in spying isn't required to understand that NCIS agents have nothing to do in Afghanistan, unless they are involved in a secret project or something. Now, that was interesting!"

"McGee. Lieutenant. 036471."

"Oh, so you wanna play soldier, eh?" growled the man, pressing the Dark Dove harder against Tim's throat. "Okay, let's play soldier: your ass is mine, my friend, and I'll take great pleasure frying it until you give me what I want, and you will give me what I want, **got it?**"

Tim felt vertigo seizing him and he knew he would faint within moments, regardless of his torturer's demands. Besides, the man was a bad liar; how could he believe Admiral McGee would ask a traitor to watch over him? In spite of his sufferings, Tim had recognized the accent of his tormentor: the guy was born in the United States, and it confirmed Stephenson's theory about shadowy characters selling American secrets to the enemy. But for Tim to believe his father would commit the goof to rat out his estranged son, an undercover federal agent, to a traitor simply out of concern for him… No, that was impossible and Tim had stopped being gullible years ago. His logical mind told him it was another lie, made to demoralize him but it would not work. The ranting and ravings of the man were too stupid to waste time listening to them and the sirens' calls for unconsciousness were getting difficult to resist…

"STAY AWAKE!" yelled the American, slapping the young prisoner hard across the face. "I didn't give you permission to faint, **got it?**"

Tim would have laughed out loud if he had had the strength: it sounded as ludicrous as Gibbs' trademark catchphrase about forbidding his subordinates to die. One day, Gibbs would have to realize that he had absolutely no power over the Grim Reaper and thus, people would die regardless of his displays of authority. Tim remembered the times Gibbs had said this to Tony, Kate, Ziva, whenever they had been in danger. Strangely enough, the Team Leader had never ordered Tim to stay alive, not even after his throat had been damaged by a drugged dog or when he had been held hostage in a women's prison, at the mercy of captives with a serious grudge against men and who would have lynched him on the spot if their demands had not been accepted…

"You stay awake, or I'll ask my friends to bring a car battery and a few wires for you to dance the electrocution cha-cha. My very own version of the electric chair, but without the possibility to die – however, there will be lots of sufferings and it involves burning flesh. How does that sounds, McGee? You'd like to experience feeling a few volts up your spine?"

Tim almost replied he had past experience with electrocution after having being shot by a Taser gun twice in a day, much to Tony's hilarity. Both times, his pseudo-partner had not bothered to call for help in spite of Tim's blatant sufferings – but a few days after the case had been closed, Agent Sanderson had cornered McGee in the rest room and he had advised him to press charges against Tony. It was inadmissible, Sanderson had said, for a Senior Agent to sit on his ass and laugh like a hyena while one of his team members had been attacked by a stun device; being hit by a Taser gun was no small business: it could cause arrhythmia leading to heart attacks and, without immediate medical treatment, cardiac arrest and death. Tony's intolerable disregard towards Tim's safety was enough to launch disciplinary actions and it would have given the Senior Agent quite a wake-up call.

McGee had thanked Sanderson for his concern but deep down, he knew pressing charges would have been pointless: Jenny Sheppard would have ignored the request and she would have told Tim sharply that if he could not handle the stress, then he should not have accepted to become a federal agent (as if being tasered and then mocked by a inconsiderate colleague had been part of the job description). Gibbs would have been furious learning Tim had dared to complain about Tony, his surrogate son, heir apparent and _protégé_. It would have been considered as a crime of lese-majesty and Tim could have kissed his career at NCIS good-bye.

McGee grunted slightly at this bad memory; his tormentor mistook it for a groan of pain and a nasty smile spread on his lips. It was time to take out the big guns, and give the prisoner quite a scare; then, he would sing like a canary!

"Or maybe I should just reveal to my friends that you're a homosexual. They loathe fags, and they get their jollies in beating to a pulp every poor bugger that has the misfortune to cross their path, **got it?** Imagine, if I tell them they're holding a prisoner who's the boy-toy of an American General, it'd feel like winning the lottery for them! And I'm not certain I'll be able to stop them from cleaving the flesh from your bones with every swing of a whip."

This time, McGee's eyes fluttered open in surprise: _his torturer was going to tell the rebels that he was gay?_ For a brief instant, it felt like a painful reminder of Tony's calumnies!

"W-What?" stuttered Tim, unable to stop himself.

"Yeah, that's what my source told me about you – the damn idiot is the kind of guy who sees fags in every corner and corners everywhere. He's completely clueless about your activities with Stephenson; he truly thought you were giving the old man the blow jobs of his life in his office, and the idea that you were involved in something bigger never crossed his tiny mind! Lucky me, though, since he pointed my investigations in the right direction: the Old Bastard who gave me your name in the first place wouldn't tell me the reasons of your presence in Afghanistan. Just watch over him and don't touch him, or else! As if I were under his command and I had to grovel at his feet… But then, the Idiot told me about your frequent meetings with Stephenson, your inseparable laptop, your little trips in the desert…"

The burly man grabbed Tim and placed the Dark Dove's tip very close to Tim's left eye, making the young man shudder in fear. One inch higher and the blade would cause irreparable damage to his sight.

"And strangely enough, right after your first wanderings in Kabul or out in the desert, my friends' carefully planned attacks have been foiled one after another. Land mines, bombs of all sorts, arms trafficking, all this failed and they became very angry. Blamed me for my 'unreliable' weapons whereas I damn well knew my glass land mines were good – nothing beats good old methods! But I don't like being called an incompetent, **got it?** So, I had a little talk with the idiot in question, who happens to have a big grudge against you… And then, all the pieces fell into place. Undercover fed, laptop, weapons detected… And, according to the old bastard, you are **very** intelligent; aren't you, Agent McGee? So, a smart guy like you can give me information about the contents of this laptop and we can do it the hard way, or the easy way – hard way being telling my friends about you liking men. So, whaddaya think?"

"McGee. Lieutenant. 036471."

The expected blow came, but Tim was getting so numb that he could not feel pain any longer. However, his brains had dismissed headache and discomfort to work full-gear inside his skull, in spite of the peril looming above his head and the promised tortures. The Watcher; his tormentor had somehow learned about The Watcher!

The 'old bastard' mentioned earlier had revealed Tim's presence in Afghanistan, piquing the burly man's sick curiosity and afterwards, an 'idiot' had talked about his frequent trips outside ISAF with heavily-armed men aboard Humvees, with a laptop constantly at hand. Tim felt cold at the thought that two men had caused his ruin: could they be accomplices? The American traitor had said the Idiot bore a grudge against Tim, but who could be the Old Bastard? Certainly not Gibbs or Admiral McGee; Stephenson was also quite out of the question as it would be completely absurd to imagine the General ignoring his own discretion orders. Then, who?

A little spark of hope suddenly shone in Tim's emeralds as he recalled something the burly man had mentioned… Something could provide answers. Torturers were cowards to the core but they inevitably enjoyed spilling their guts in front of a wounded, bound prisoner since they wrongly thought they were having the upper hand. Before the man could threaten him again with the Dark Dove, Tim whispered:

"Glass… mines…"

"Yeah, little freak. _**My**_ glass mines, built with my own hands from my grandfather's sketches he made during WWII. He was only interested in the mechanisms, that senile do-gooder, but when I found his notebook right after he kicked the bucket, I knew I've hit paydirt. Glass mines, aren't they antiques good for war museums? Quite the contrary: with a few improvements, they became deadly and the local rebels were at each other's throats to buy my stock, **got it?** I've made a packet but just as I was going leave this stinking country, the mines were neutralized one after another all of a sudden and it vexed my clients to no end. So I had to give that bunch of flea-bags their money back but why shouldn't I get a little compensation for my losses, as well? Why not acquiring that mysterious thingie that had detected my glass mines? I whispered the idea of snatching a rich Daddy's boy in the right ears and my friends were thrilled at the idea of having a hostage worth a lot of money in their clutches. And they fell for it, the fools! They provided me with a group of maniacs ready for anything and, according to the Idiot, our prey and his bodyguards were scheduled to go out in the desert in spite of a massive thunderstorm, the perfect weather to scramble radio communication and to prevent air rescue from taking off. And then, well… A little RPG goes a long way!"

Tim felt nauseous but this time, it was not due to the blows he had sustained; his persecutor was the man responsible for providing weapons to the enemy, he had caused the death or mutilations of dozens of US soldiers and Afghani civilians, murdered Aimee and had him kidnapped after dandling in front of terrorists the lure of a ransom, whereas he was only interested in getting his hands on The Watcher! The disgusting, repugnant man! He had betrayed his country, betrayed his friends and he was betraying them again!

His only consolation was that The Watcher was gone, Tim had made sure of it: he had shot his computer just before the Humvee had burst into flames, leaving no chances for the detecting device to survive the attack. As for building another one in a cave, forget it: even with his brilliant mind and under duress, Tim would need a new laptop and dozens of applications to redo the math, and he doubted the local warlords would sit tight and wait for him to finish working for the burly man before sending their demands for ransom money. Tim was no Tony Stark and he could not fake building a weapon in a cave, before escaping in a energy-powered armor – this kind of things happened only in comic books and movies, unfortunately.

The tormentor grabbed a handful of Tim's hair once again, and waved the Dark Dove in front of his face:

"You're going to tell me how you've managed to detect my weapons, you vermin! And maybe I'll grant you a quick death? instead of asking my friends to take care of you. Don't imagine Uncle Sam's going to save you like the cavalry; we're hundreds of miles away from the attack site, right in the middle of mountains and winter is coming. You cannot escape, and I'll make sure every second you spend here will be in the utmost misery! Now, start to speak or I'll gouge out one of your nice eyes – one is all you'll need and I ain't joking! My friends don't mind what I'll do to you, provided you stay alive long enough for the ransom video and they'll actually appreciate your screams of agony. So, speak or I'll… **OW!**"

The man's diatribe ended with a yelp of pain and he raised his hand to his lips in a vain attempt to stop the blood from running.

Tim started to laugh: the Dark Dove had cut his kidnapper's index finger!

"**WHAT'S SO FUNNY, YOU LITTLE CREEP?"** roared the man. He threw the Dark Dove across the cave – it landed in the shadows of the opposite corner of the cave – and then started punching the young man's face repetitively, furious that his prisoner had dared to mock him. Tim thought for sure it was it; he was doomed; he would fall into a coma and never wake up again… when a third voice rang out loud:

**[ENOUGH!]**

The torturer stopped his beatings and Tim almost collapsed head-first on the floor. Only the ropes tying him to the chair stopped his fall and he stayed as inert as a rag doll, blood dripping from his mouth to land on his thighs. Better for him to let his captors think he had lost consciousness… while his ears were picking up snippets of conversation:

_[What… you doing? Want… to kill him?]_

_[Sorry, Farhad… Little bastard… made me angry!]_

_[Fool! Dead man… not worth any money! Took great risks… in taking American lord… not for you… to kill him!]_

_[Yes! Sorry! When we … shot the video?]_

_[… Have to wait… Zalmai bringing… camera… late, because of… tempest.]_

_[What? We can't… ask for money… without… video!]_

_[I know… can't do anything… Have patience! In the meantime… don't kill him!]_

_[Have you… found… computer?]_

_[No… Hamid… back to… wreckage… found nothing.]_

_[He's a fool!... Told him… retrieve… computer…!]_

_[Hamid… great risks… going back… wreckage… American patrols… Should have… taken… computer yourself.]_

_[Massoud… goofed! Shot RPG… everywhere… could've killed me! Could've killed… American lord!]_

_[Nothing… be done now. Have to… wait… for Zalmai!]_

_[But… how long?]_

_[Impossible… to know… be patient, Boutlir.]_

_[Careful! Don't say… my name… in front… prisoner!]_

_[He… can't hear! Wounded… Are you scared… of prisoner, Boutlir?]_

_[I… scared…. Nothing!]_

_[Hope so… Leave… lord prisoner… alone.]_

There was a silence, and then Tim heard Farhad's footsteps decreasing as he left the cave. The American nicknamed _"Boutlir"_ snorted loudly like a chained bull and then, persuaded Tim was out, he grumbled to himself:

"Disgusting flea-ridden asshole… Can't even keep his bastards under control, and he thinks he can give me orders! He's damn lucky I need him and his bums to keep the fed here; otherwise I'd gladly blow their brains out or, even better, tie my glass mines to their stomachs and wait until their guts decorate the walls of this cave! And now I have to wait until that imbecile Zalmai comes with the video camera before I can interrogate McGee again, s**t!"

That last word was expressed with another slap on Tim's face. To his credit, the young man remained as silent and immobile as a statue.

"Little wimp's out for the count… No matter, I'll interrogate him later. It'll be night soon and that bunch of cockroaches will be sleeping off the effects of the opium or whatever the Hell they had smoked, including that nosey Fahrad and I will have my answers about the detection device, one way or the other. But the night's going to be long, so I'd better grab whatever passes for food here."

Tim heard _"Boutlir"_ leaving the area as well, but waited until he was absolutely sure he was alone to open tentatively his eyes. The cave was plunged in the semi-darkness; the only light coming from a kerosene lamp forgotten on the floor. Tim bit at his own tongue to prevent himself from fainting; he did not have much time to plan an escape and could not afford to waste precious minutes or hours in the sweet oblivion of unconsciousness, simply because his wounded body begged for rest. From what he had learned, his kidnapper wanted to torture him until he would get information about The Watcher, while keeping his hidden agenda away from the rebels, who were foolishly thinking they would get money by keeping an 'American lord' hostage. McGee knew it was useless trying to tell Farhad about _Boutlir_'streachery: the rebel leader would not believe him and besides, he would not renounce to prize money. No, Tim had to escape and right now!

But how?

At the same moment, a flickering light drew his attention. Trying not to moan out loud from the effort, Tim slowly turned his head towards the opposite corner of the cave and tried to discern the source of the light; it was not coming from the kerosene lamp, for certain, and the cave was only filled with rocks. So what could be shining in the darkness?

Then, Tim's eyes widened in realization: it was the Dark Dove's blade, partially illuminated by the lamp.

The sight of his knife gave McGee a boost of energy, chasing away the pain from his wounds and his killer headache. _"Boutlir"_ had forgotten to pick up the blade on his way out! It was lying on the floor, at a few feet from its legitimate owner! Night was falling, and soon the terrorists would be asleep: Tim could arm himself, cut his way out of the cave, and reach freedom!

But how could he loosen the ropes binding him?

Tim gritted his teeth in frustration, but an idea suddenly popped inside his mind. His captors had not tied his wrists behind the chair's back, but to the wooden structure of the seating surface – probably because they had feared Tim would somehow break the back and free his hands. That was unlikely, given the young man's current state of exhaustion, but terrorists were not the kind to take unnecessary risks upon themselves.

His wrists were fastened by solid hemp ropes cutting at his skin, and blood had been seeping from the gashes. Not enough, though, for his wrists to come out of their bounds… More 'lubricant' was needed in order to make his skin slippery.

Tim never hesitated; in spite of his immense thirst, he cleared his throat, turned his head towards his left side and spat a blending of blood and saliva. The reddish liquid landed on his forearm and, thanks to the action of gravity, ran along his wrist in heavy droplets seeping between the skin and the ropes. Tim gathered his courage and gave a tug: his wrist moved a little under the bounds, but not enough to loosen them and set his arm free.

Another spat, but he missed his target; most of the blend fell on the floor.

The young man barely repressed a moan of despair before trying again; the third attempt was more successful: his left wrist got covered with the blood-and-saliva mixture which infiltrated itself under the knots.

Tim twisted his wrist: this time, the movement was easier. The ropes were slowly getting wet and slippery; hope was starting to shine in the young man's heart. If he could free his left hand…

Another spat; another twist of the wrist.

Another…

And another…

And another…

TBC…


	53. An evasion

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- To Guest: am I updating quickly enough for you? xD

- To Second Guest: same thing!

- To LamoDa: well, Tim isn't Tony Stark so he's going to escape in a very different way.

- To Third Guest: this is not a death fic, so Tim isn't going to die anytime soon.

- To Fourth Guest: Tim is certainly suffering from Aimee's death, but it will also give him the edge to slain his enemies.

- To Earthdragon: Butler is certainly crossed at the loss of his glass mines and wants compensation by getting his hands on The Watcher – unaware it has been destroyed in the attack. And Gibbs will confess about having hired Butler for Tim's 'own good' (or so he thought).

- To None: Miller will have a sharp encounter with the Dark Dove, for sure!

- To RedDragen: I hope you'll like this new chapter!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 53: An evasion<strong>

_In Washington, DC…_

Special Agent Ziva David was packing, tucking the bare necessities in a heavy-duty shoulder bag made of solid leather: a change of clothes, first-aid kit, toiletries, her set of knives, gun, cartridge clips, a map of Afghanistan, sharpening tools, night vision device, money… All she needed for her self-appointed rescue mission in a war-torn country, where one of her dearest friends was in grave danger; Ziva had sworn to save him, regardless of the costs and she had not bothered asking Gibbs or Vance for their permission. Her experience as a Mossad officer had taught her that in kidnapping cases, time was the essence and she had not wasted a second of it: she had called in a few favors, and a private jet would take her to London this evening. There, she would take a flight for Istambul, and then Kabul, where she would be completely on her own in her search for McGee. It would have been better if she had a partner for her mission but Ziva did not have any choice, not after what had happened the day before…

Director Vance had broken the terrible news to Team Gibbs in his office, and it had felt as if the sky had fallen on the NCIS building. Tim had been captured three days ago by terrorists and his whereabouts were unknown; his escort had been torn to pieces; his project – some kind of detecting device – had been destroyed. General Stephenson from the ISAF base was deploying every mean at his disposal to find Tim, but there was a high chance the kidnappers would ask for a ransom and so, in order to 'convince' the world's population of their determination, they would beat up their prisoner, torture him and then post a video on the Internet to give their demands a wide audience. It would cause a terrible reaction throughout the American public… and an even worse reaction from Admiral McGee! Then again, it could not be worst than Abby's attitude at the conference room…

Ziva closed her eyes, remembering the tedious moments that had followed Vance's terrible news...

_(Flashback)_

_Gibbs had gathered his team in the conference room, wanting to give people a moment to recover from the shock of Tim's kidnapping. Jimmy, seated in a chair, seemed close to burst into tears and only Ducky's gentle reassurances prevented him from totally lose it. Ziva was as still as a statue but her brains were already making a long list of retributions she would give to her friend's captors. Tony had remained blissfully quiet, probably because of the glare tight-lipped Gibbs had given him but also due to the fact he had loudly broadcasted for weeks that Tim's mission was nothing but _'A walk in the park',_ unworthy of anyone's attention. The attack, the murder of US Marines and the snatching of McGee had cruelly contradicted Tony and doubtless the NCIS people would be disgusted by his attitude... And maybe get him into more trouble with Vance, since the littlest joke seemed to be automatically reported to the Director, nowadays! _

_Anxious to save his own skin, Tony wondered if it would be possible to form a rescue team and then travel to Afghanistan, find McGee and bring him back discreetly to the US – like they had previously done in the past to save Ziva in Somalia. Some bigwigs had not been too happy learning about their initiative afterwards, yelling about possible diplomatic incidents, strained relations between countries, questions of national sovereignties, illegal military operations and all the rest of it but in the end, a few chosen words from Vance had efficiently shut the complainers up. But could Team Gibbs do the same thing a second time? _

_Tony was pondering about the pros and cons of taking such an initiative, when a loud knock at the conference room's door, immediately followed by an angry Abby barging in without waiting for an answer, put his indecision on 'hold' for a moment._

"_GIBBS! GIBBS! GIBBS! What's going on? The whole team is summoned to a meeting with Vance and I'm not invited!" exclaimed the Goth woman, stomping repetitively her platform boot on the ground in a great imitation of a vexed kid._

"_Abby..."_

"_I'm an integral part of the team, you know! The 'Ignoring-Abby' days are over, I'm back in the job and I'll show to the very one last of you that I won't be left behind like unwanted refuse! I'll prove that creep Peterson has no right to file a complaint against me! I've worked my ass off to earn my well-deserved place as top scientist of the Forensics department and I..."_

_Jimmy suddenly jumped on his feet and shouted: __**"CAN YOU EVER BE QUIET?"**_

_A startled Abby looked at the assistant M.E. with rounded eyes, before her belligerent nature recovered from the interruption: "Shut up yourself, you stupid Gremlin! The nerve of you, to talk back to me like that! I should sue..."_

"_Abigail, I forbid you to be rude towards Mister Palmer," interrupted Ducky with a severe frown on his face._

"_You forbid me? That's a good one! You seem to forget, nobody has the right to tell me doing this or that and it includes you, Ducky!"_

"_Abby, that's enough!" barked Gibbs. "We're in enough trouble, and we don't need you causing dissension in our team!"_

"_**I**__ cause dissension? How do you like that? Jimmy is mean and you don't even defend me!" said Abby with the whiniest tone she could manage._

"_Oh, for the love of God! Can't you see we're talking serious business here?" barked Gibbs, fed up by such childish behavior. His youngest son had been kidnapped by terrorists on the other side of the world, for crying out loud! His Tim, his baby was in mortal danger and they were wasting precious time arguing like idiots in a conference room!_

"_What serious business? And how in the world am I supposed to know if you lot keep me in the dark?"_

"_McGee has been taken. Terrorists have grabbed him while he was on patrol duty in the desert; the Marines accompanying him are either dead or grievously wounded, so we have no clues where he could be; but there's a high suspicion he has been taken for ransom, meaning that in a few days, we could watch a video featuring him beaten to a pulp and held at gunpoint by a bunch of maniacs who will threaten to cut off his head on live if we don't yield to their demands. Is that serious enough for you?"_

_Abby remained silent for a minute and Gibbs thought he might had been a bit rash; the Goth woman was known for being ultra-sensitive with a tendency to over-react – apart from when she was working at her lab, the only place where she was in complete control of her environment – and the last thing they needed was an Abby getting into violent hysterics, falling apart from the terrible news and needing to be taken to the hospital to be treated for shock. But, in front of Gibbs' unbelieving eyes, Abby merely shrugged and said:_

"_Well, it was bound to happen, wasn't it?"_

"_WHAT DID YOU SAY?" said five incredulous voices in unison._

_Abby worried her bottom lip, a bit taken apart by the spontaneous reaction of her teammates: Ziva, Tony, Ducky and the Gremlin were glaring at her as if they wanted to mimic Gibbs and, considering the face her silver-haired fox was making, it looked like her champion was not in the mood to scare people who would dare to tell her off… But no, that was impossible; the Team Leader would never let her down, not in a million years. She had replaced his murdered daughter Kelly in his heart and he would always defend her, despite all opposition! _

_Confident in her total immunity and Gibbs' protectiveness, Abby carried on:_

"_Well, it's a well-known fact McGee is inept for undercover jobs, and it's also obvious he has delusions of grandeur: he accepted this stupid mission abroad just to annoy us and prove that he can stand on his own two feet but he cannot lie nor fight, like Tony says! He probably said the wrong thing to the wrong person and, as a result, he got Marines killed before being snatched away. This kind of thing would never happen to Tony or Ziva but they're real professionals whereas McGee is a complete flop, a dog-hater geek pretending to be an agent and he should have stayed behind his desk where he belongs. Frankly, I was counting the days before such a thing would occur – and now, I suppose we'll have to work day and night to try and find him? That's a real chore, if you ask me."_

_Stunned silence followed those words, and then a livid Team Leader said between gritted teeth:_

"_Get out of here, Abby."_

"_But, Gibbs…"_

"_I said, __**OUT**__! And don't bother to come back; I'm sick of your attitude and I'm sick of you."_

_Abby stood gob-smacked for a few seconds, and then she extended her arms towards the Team Leader as if she asked for one of her trademark hugs but Gibbs would have none of it. He grabbed Abby by the arm, opened the door and flung her out of the conference room. The wooden panel slammed shut behind the forensic scientist and Gibbs turned about to see the stupefied, disapproving or furious faces of his teammates, staring at him with rounded eyes. _

"_Guys, I…"_

"_Jethro, for the moment the only one who matters is Timothy," said Ducky, rescuing his friend from having to make what he hated the most: an apology. "We need to concentrate on what we can do to rescue that poor boy from his captors."_

"_That's the main trouble, Duck: __**we can't do anything**__!" roared Gibbs, exasperated by this confession of helplessness. "Tim was involved in a secret project so, technically, he's not in Afghanistan, he hasn't been captured by terrorists, he doesn't even exist! The General in charge of ISAF is conducting enquiries but they will lead to nothing, since the locals are way too frightened to give information about a prisoner! And as soon as the ransom video will be posted on the Net, it will make a racket throughout the media, especially after our government will deny en bloc the kidnapping of an unknown American! The official statement will be that the terrorists are lying on a fake video and God knows what torture McGee will have to endure in the meantime! __**And we are powerless to help him!**__"_

"_Gibbs!" exclaimed Ziva. "We can still go to Afghanistan and find McGee by ourselves, just like you did when I got captured in Somalia."_

"_It took weeks of preparation before we could come and get you, Ziver, and right now the circumstances are not the same; both Tony and I are on probation, meaning we're under heavy scrutiny: one missed hour of work will inevitably raise the alarm before we could even reach the airport. And unfortunately, we're the only ones qualified for the job: Ducky has previous experience with Afghanistan but he still a wanted man there; Palmer is immediately ruled out; and Ziva, I can't allow you to go in a country where women are in permanent danger, unlike your father has done in the past."_

"_Not to forget that Vance will not be able to sweep an illegal rescue operation under the carpet another time," added Tony. "We were damn lucky to have kept our jobs after Somalia but if we pull another stunt like this in Afghanistan, we could find ourselves in very deep trouble – heck, we could even face jail time!"_

"_I don't give a damn about prison," cried out Ziva. "I want to find McGee!"_

"_You think I don't? You think I like the idea of sitting on my hands while my youngest is in peril?" shot the Team Leader back. "But the whole hush-hush surrounding that damned secret project has made it twice more difficult to rescue Tim than to retrieve you in Somalia! An unauthorized mission will make us look as spies not only by terrorists, but also by the US forces and we could be thrown in a cell before we'd get a single chance to rescue McGee! So we're going to stay in DC, like it or not, and type on those lousy keyboards until we find his location. And I forbid you to take stupid initiatives in the lines of rushing off to Afghanistan on your own as I am not losing another member of my team so I will personally kick you out of NCIS if you ever think of going to Afghanistan, __**do you hear?**__"_

_(End of flashback)_

Ziva had certainly heard her superior's orders loud and clear but, for the first time in her life, she was going to ignore them. She was resolute in finding Tim – the 'special one' she had been thinking about, day and night, for the past few months – and if it meant the termination of her job at NCIS, well, it was a small price to pay to see the man she loved safe and sound in DC. Of course, she knew that Tim may not share her sentiments, but Ziva could not possibly care less. The young man was very dear to her and she would be damned before she would let trifles such as interdictions, warnings, threats of unemployment or fear of heartbreaks to prevent her from running at his rescue. Once Tim would be back in the States, she and he would have a conversation and Ziva would confess her sentiments; afterwards… Well, there was a faint possibility she would be crushed, but at least she would have the consolation that she had saved her friend from low-lifers.

The shoulder bag was ready; Ziva glanced around, making sure she had not forgotten anything. Her flat was dark and silent; she had turned off all the appliances, she had gotten rid of all perishable food in the fridge and the rent was paid via direct debit, meaning she would still have a home waiting for her once the rescue mission would be accomplished; she grabbed her phone, secured her handgun under her leather jacket, switched off the lights and headed for the front door. She looked in the peephole as a precaution but the coast was clear. She had to hurry, though: the private jet was not going to wait forever and she had to be in Kabul fast. Time was the essence in kidnapping cases and Tim had been missing for three days straight!

Ziva opened her flat's front door… to find herself eyeball to eyeball with Leroy Jethro Gibbs, standing on her doormat!

"What are you doing here?" asked the ex-Mossad officer.

"I could ask you the same thing, Ziver," answered the silver-haired man, not at all put off by her rudeness.

Ziva knew it was useless to lie: the bag hanging from her should was a dead giveaway of her imminent departure but, even though she loathed wasting precious minutes, she felt owing an explanation to her Boss.

"I'm leaving."

"Where to?"

"Kabul… And don't try to stop me, Gibbs! I _won't _remain in DC while McGee's in danger. I've given it a lot of thoughts and I've come to the conclusion that I'm the only one who can find him. Like you've said, you and Tony are under close examination; Ducky's too frail; Jimmy and Abby are not qualified so there's only me left to complete successfully a rescue mission."

"Do you really think you can go undercover in Afghanistan on your own, Ziva? Have you forgotten what happened in Somalia, already?"

"That's not the same thing!" exclaimed the young woman. "I was betrayed by my father; but he's not in Afghanistan right now so I don't have to worry about being stabbed in the back by a relative!"

"What about my express orders, about no member of my team being allowed to rush abroad and save McGee?"

Ziva's dark eyes turned as unforgiving as volcanic stones:

"Don't try to stop me, Gibbs. Right now, the only person that matters to me is McGee and nothing, not even your wrath, will stop me from rescuing him. I have ways to make people do what I want, remember?"

"You'd dare using your weapons against your Boss?"

"If needed! Now get out of my highway, I have a plane to catch."

Gibbs pondered those words for a moment, and then he said:

"No can do, Ziver, unless you let me come with you!"

It was at this moment that the Israeli woman noticed the heavy-looking, army-issued bag at the feet of her Boss.

* * *

><p><em>Meanwhile, in the Afghan mountains…<em>

Tim picked the Dark Dove off the ground and quickly hid in the shadows of the cave, ignoring the pain of his wounds and the trembling of his legs. His captors had secured him to the chair with solid bounds but they had made a fatal mistake: they had tied his right arm more securely than the other, not even considering the possibility that their prisoner could be a southpaw. Tim had managed to slip his left hand out of the ropes, thanks to a mixture of blood and saliva making his skin slimy and then, he had been able to free himself from that damned hot seat to regain his knife.

But he was not out of danger yet: he was wounded and exhausted; there was probably several caverns filled with enemies and his tormentor, the American nicknamed _'Boutlir'_, had mentioned coming back later to extort information out of his uncooperative prisoner while his accomplices would be asleep, zonked from their criminal activities and the drugs they had consumed. _'Boutlir'_ wanted to get his paws on The Watcher and Tim would be in the greatest of danger once he would confess, under torture, that he had destroyed his masterpiece before his capture and no one, not even Farhad the leader, would be able to stop _'Boutlir'_ from killing him. The American was violent, overconfident and greedy: a dangerous combination, especially for a hostage.

Tim would have gulped if he had some remaining saliva inside his mouth, but his brains overruled his fears. To get out of this trap, he would need clothes, food and water. _'Boutlir'_ had said they were in the mountains and the weather would turn cold pretty soon; from Ducky's notebook, Tim had learned that winter in Afghanistan was very harsh and his only chance to escape was to leave before the snow would entrap him in the cave, at the mercy of his captors.

Moving slowly – his wounds could not allow him to do otherwise –, Tim reached the entrance of the 'interrogation room' and took a peek outside: there was an empty corridor and, at the end of it, the vague shape of another entrance illuminated by a fainted glow. Tim walked towards it and tried very hard to prevent his teeth from chattering: it was very cold inside the cave and he was almost naked, in shock and suffering from blood loss. A lesser man would have collapsed on the spot but Tim McGee was made of stronger stuff; besides, he considered his sufferings as nothing compared to what Ziva had endured in Somalia for weeks, at the hands of Saleem.

The souvenir of the courageous woman, plus the reassuring weight of the Dark Dove in his hand, made Tim smile in spite of the circumstances. He reached the entrance of the second cavern and realized the glow was coming from a camp fire and several human forms, bundled in blankets, were lying on the ground around the logs. This cavern was wider than the 'interrogation room' and there was a hole in the ceiling, allowing the evacuation of the smoke. It was even colder there and Tim shivered from head to toes. He would freeze to death before he could even find his way out!

Suddenly, a movement made him jump back in the shadows: one of the terrorists had pushed away his blanket and, after getting on his feet, he staggered in the general direction of McGee. The young man crouched behind a rock and remained very still, the Dark Dove on the ready. The rebel – a thirty-something man whose black, unkempt beard had been shortened by an odd diagonal strike – had been using judging from his mutterings, maniacal grin, uncoordinated movements and cross-eyed gaze. He stopped short from McGee only from a few feet, unfastened his belt, opened the front of his pants and started relieving himself against a rock, luckily not the one where the prisoner was hiding behind.

Tim felt his blood turning into ice inside his veins, but this time it was not from the cavern's temperature; he had recognized the rebel: it was Massoud, the maddened RPG-wielder, the one who had destroyed his Humvee; the man directly responsible for Aimee's death! A spark of light illuminated briefly the Dark Dove's blade, as if the weapon was calling for blood.

McGee gritted his teeth; he was not a violent man – Tony had rebuked him countless times for this – but he knew he would not be martyred for his principles, either. Massoud was too busy satisfying the call of Nature to pay attention to his surroundings; Tim jumped out of his hiding place, grabbed the man and shoved him roughly on the ground. The RPG-wielder, too stoned to scream, looked up and saw the prisoner – naked, bloodied, his green eyes shining in fury – pinning him against the gravel before raising his left hand holding a mean-looking knife. Massoud opened his eyes wide in stupefaction, his clouded brains finally realizing the American lord had gotten loose but how could it be possible? Americans were fat, lazy, stupid and they deserved to be blown to pieces by his mighty weapon!

But Massoud had no time to pounder about what was happening.

The Dark Dove struck home.

Tim, his features carved in granite, wasted no time disrobing Massoud and putting on his attire. It was smelly, but at least it offered protection against the cold and a disguise. The young man wrapped the checkered _lungee_ around his head, slipped on the leather boots, secured the Dark Dove at his belt, put on the cloak and then stood up to impersonate Massoud, in case someone had spotted the rebel taking a leak. But none of the men snoring around the camp fire had moved an inch so Tim slowly walked towards the opening heading to another corridor, across the large cavern.

But, as he reached Massoud's former sleeping place, Tim spotted a long metallic tube poking out of the blankets, with a warhead fixed at one extremity.

_The RPG-7!_

Out of impulse, Tim grabbed the anti-tank rocket-propelled grenade launcher and hid it under his cloak. It was too big to be completely dissimulated, of course, but Tim refused to leave such a dangerous weapon at the hands of terrorists. He would destroy it as soon as he would have the chance and it would protect future patrols from destruction.

The second corridor was darker than the first and narrower; Tim, burdened by the RPG, moved with extra caution to avoid bumping the weapon against a rock and alerting sentinels. But after he had reached the corridor's turn, a blessed sight almost made him cry out in joy: _stars_! He could see the dark blue night sky scattered with brilliant stars, he had found the exit! He could escape!

"What do you mean, you cannot tell me?"

The voice nearly made Tim jump out of his skin and his heart pounded inside his chest like a hammer: _it was so close!_ The young man ducked to the ground with the RPG in his arms and remained very still, listening with all his ears to the conversation.

"You're dumber than you look, and I didn't think it was humanely possible!" added the voice, and Tim realized it was the man named _'Boutlir'_ who was talking on a mobile phone. Apparently, he had gotten out of the cave to get a better connection and to talk without bothered by nosey Afghani rebels.

"I told you to keep your eyes and ears open at all times, **got it?**... Yeah, well, I don't care if the whole base is in lockup… You're supposed to be a smarty, eh? That's what you brag yourself to be… Well, I ain't wild about your results! I wanna know the minute when Americans show up in Kabul and start asking questions about McGee in town or at the base… I'm taking a big risk staying in here while you stay safe and snug at ISAF so don't you dare telling me about the dangers, you coward!"

Tim's clever brains understood _'Boutlir'_ was speaking to his accomplice and, judging from the one-side conversation, the man did not held his co-conspirator in high esteem – no wonders he called him The Idiot.

"What now? A female doctor?... What do I care about her? She was killed in the attack? So f*****g what?... You wanted to screw her? Well, tough – I probably did the slut a favor. Listen up, I ain't got time to waste with your lovey-gooey stories so if you know what's good for you, you'd better have some fresh news to give me next time I call you… I have friends everywhere in town and they would be too happy to slice open the throat of a US Marine if I ask them politely to do so, **got it?**... Now you get your lazy bum off your seat and you start finding information, otherwise your lack of opium pills will be the least of your problems, Miller!"

On the ground, a wounded young man felt as if all air had vanished from his lungs. _**Miller?**_

"It's a burnt phone, stupid!... Of course it's perfectly safe to talk! But I won't waste any more time with you: get me some info, or you'll regret the goddamned day of your birth, **got it?**"

'_Boutlir'_ snapped the mobile phone shut in a gesture of exasperation, and turned around just in time to see Tim McGee standing in front of him, his face smeared with blood, like an Amerindian on the warpath.

The traitor opened his mouth to yell for help.

The Dark Dove flew through the air.

TBC…


	54. A retribution

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- Words between brackets _[]_ are in Pashtu language.

- Details about Afghani food come from Wikipedia.

_- The lion and the gnat_ is a fable by French poet Jean de la Fontaine (1621 –1695).

- To my Russian reviewer: thank you for your appreciation!

- To AS: I hope you will like the new chapter!

- To LamoDa: There will be more excitement ahead.

- To Guest: thank you! ;-)

- To RedDragen: there will definitively be some Tim/Ziva moments.

- To Daniel Harris: I'm glad you think the characterization is good.

- To Sprouthater: the Dark Dove won't miss Miller, for certain!

- To None: does the word 'eunuch' rings a bell? xD

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 54: A retribution<strong>

Tim watched as the downed American named _"Boutlir"_ was suffocating; the Dark Dove had gone through and through the enemy's larynx (the voice box) before ending between the cervical vertebrae, severing the spine. _"Boutlir"_ was completely paralyzed, like his neck had been broken in a car accident and he had become a quadriplegic; his diaphragm had ceased to work and the inertia of his lungs, combined to the blood loss in his throat, made it impossible for him to escape his fate. His senseless hands could not grab at the blade's handle in a desperate attempt to remove it from his throat and his brutish eyes were staring at granite-faced Tim, as if he could not believe the wounded young man had gotten the upper hand on him. Miller had described McGee as a weakling, a homosexual, a gigolo! And yet, McGee had managed to free himself from his bounds and to kill him!

Butler tried to yell his outrage but all that came out of his mouth was a pitiful gurgle; he could not die in this God-forsaken place, pinned like a butterfly! He deserved to live a life of ease after having fought in every corner of the world, selling his services to the highest bidder and using his grandfather's experience in land mines to make a fortune. Butler had planned to buy his own island and retire there with a few chosen women tending to his every need, while money would be poured in his off-shore bank accounts.

However, his dreams had hit the wall with McGee's annoying habit to detect explosive devices before they could do their jobs and, with irate clients wanting reimbursement, Butler had thought it the perfect solution to grab that busybody worth his weight in gold and knowledge, solving all his problems in one. And McGee had ruined everything, once again!

Butler saw Tim's unblinking green eyes fixed on him and the realization that he was doomed finally reached his reptilian brains. It was so unfair. Burt was just a mercenary with the smarts of a businessman, trying to make his way into the world. He had never hurt anybody in his life. He was harmless. It was other people who had been mean towards him, not the other way round. He was innocent. He did not deserve this. It was not an end for a man of his stature. He...

One last small gurgle and _"Boutlir"_ was gone; Tim's face remained impassive but his heart was bleeding at the souvenir of Aimee, her brilliant life cut short by a piece of shrapnel stuck in her throat, dying while whispering her love to him. It was poetic justice that the man responsible for her death had been killed in the same way but it was no consolation for Tim. He would have endured torture for years if it could have saved Aimee and his friends, but fate had not given Tim a choice.

However, he could chose to refuse their deaths to be in vain by reaching ISAF safe and sound, even though it implied a long trek in the desert with bloodthirsty enemies at his heels while wounded and lost! A few months ago, Tim would have been very worried at the thought of facing such an ordeal alone (he had gotten used to rely on his teammates in DC, even if some of them were unbearable at times) but his insecurities had vanished under Stephenson's kind and patient tutelage. The General had taught him to rely on his resources, to trust his own judgment and to stop fearing about _"what ifs"_ that crippled his courage. Stephenson has instilled self-confidence in Tim and the young man wanted to honor his mentor by proving he had been a good student.

Glancing down, Tim saw the packed lunch left on the ground; apparently, _"Boutlir"_ had planned to have dinner outside and a phone call from Miller, The Idiot, had interrupted him. McGee searched frantically for the contents tucked inside folded cloths: _naan _bread; rice; a cold Chapli kebab; _qoroot, _a sour cottage cheese; _Gosh e feel, _fried pastries covered with sugar and pistachios; some fruits, too: a pomegranate, apricots and plums. Obviously, the American traitor had not been willing to share his good food with his accomplices, but the man's selfishness was Tim's lifeline. The young man almost screamed out loud in delight as he found a flask filled with... cold tea!

He gulped down the liquid greedily and would not have stopped until the last drop when suddenly words from Ducky came back to his mind:

"_If ever lost in the desert, steel your mind save water rations to the maximum; also, walk by nighttime. One will lose less liquid through transpiration during the nights. Also, always stay wary of wells: they could have been deliberately poisoned by dumping the body of an animal or a human body inside, so avoid drinking or using this water to clean wounds at all costs." _

That sentence had been consigned in _"The Duckman's guide of how to survive in Afghanistan as a soldier",_ the notebook Ducky had given him before his departure and Tim had learned it by heart. Doubtless the old M.E.'s wisdom would be of invaluable help in his trek back to ISAF. Tim did not have the time to tend to his wounds and decided to let the blood dry on the cuts: the blood platelets would coagulate and keep infection at bay, hopefully; besides, once the rebels would realize he had escaped, he would have more pressing matters than to worry about infection!

Resolutely, Tim packed up the food and tea; a quick search confirmed him _"Boutlir"_ did not have a handgun on him and he could not waste time looking for one, but he took the cell phone; he could not use it to call ISAF since he did not have the number but it would be used as proof against Sergeant Miller. He extracted the Dark Dove from the fallen man's throat and wiped the blade clean on his clothes – Ziva had told him once that knives had to be cleaned after use; otherwise, iron contained in the blood would oxidize and leave rust marks on the blade – and then he picked up the RPG-7 anti-tank rocket-propelled grenade launcher and looked around: no sentries, no man wandering about, nothing but dark mountains and the first quarter of the moon shining in the sky. Tim was grateful for this: a full moon would have illuminated the night sky too brightly and prevented him from watching the stars.

Timothy McGee had been a boy scout in his childhood and a Captain in the Boys and Girls Scout Club for years – something Tony had found hilarious and another blatant proof of Tim's inanity – but, unfortunately for the Very Special Agent, being involved in the scouting movement was not reduced to wear shorts and sing around a campfire. Tim had learned tons of things about Nature and he had never forgotten the lessons about finding its way by observing the sun or the stars, earning first-aid care, identifying plants (well, except for poison ivy) and finding edibles in the wild. All things that could come in on handy, even in the Afghani desert.

Tim looked up at the celestial dome and found the North Star, Polaris, quite easily. The Big Dipper, or Ursa Major, was also present, showing the West; opposite to it was the W-shaped constellation named Cassiopeia after the legendary Ethiopian queen, along with her daughter Andromeda, son-in-law Perseus and husband Cepheus. Cassiopeia could be seen almost at her clearest and Tim remembered this constellation would shine like this until early November, a hint that winter should arrive anytime soon. Kabul and ISAF was at the East, meaning Tim had to keep an eye on Cassiopeia and her family for a chance to walk in the right direction of the base.

He walked down the narrow path between rocks – a trail that even goats would find difficult to follow – and found a dirt road at the bottom of the mountain, where the cavern he had been kept in was located. Tim somberly thought his captors had been overconfident in their ability to disappear in the mountains and had not thought it indispensable to keep guard around the hideout.

Tim turned around but, just when he was going to head towards East, muffled voices resounded behind him:

_[What… Where is…?]_

_[Mouloud! He… dead!]_

_[What… Search everywhere! Where's Boutlir?]_

_[Farhad! Prisoner… missing!]_

Tim's heart stopped beating as he realized his escape was compromised. Someone had found the RPG's owner dead and had raised the alarm. It would be a matter of seconds before the rebels would find _"Boutlir"_ had been killed and then, they would run after him and, in his weakened state, Tim would not put up much of a fight, even with the help of the Dark Dove. He would be vanquished, captured and dragged again in the cavern, with rebels seriously pissed off by the death of their friend and their American supplier.

Tim never hesitated: he shouldered the RPG-7, stabilized it and aimed the warhead at the cavern's entrance. It was the very first time he held such a weapon but he was no novice at shooting and, with all the books he had read about the US forces' artillery added to solutions provided by his engineering brains, he should be able to use it accordingly. The young man knew he would not have a second chance… The RPG's shot had to be perfect.

Voices shouted from inside the cavern were getting clearer: a sure sign the rebels were coming out of their hiding place any seconds.

_[Prisoner… Gone!]_

_[… Gotten out! Find him!]_

_[Can't be far! He… wounded… American lord… stupid!]_

_[Find him! Now!]_

_[Where is… lazy Boutlir!]_

_[He… outside.]_

_[What… for?]_

_[Phone…]_

_[FIND HIM!]_

In spite of the dim light, Tim could see two human silhouettes coming out of the cavern's entrance. They stopped dead on their tracks as they almost stumbled upon the crumpled form of the American traitor.

_[What's that?]_

_[Boutlir! He… dead, too!]_

_[Tell Farhad!]_

Tim fired the RPG; the warhead hit the rocks above the entrance and exploded in an end-of-the-world sound. The recoil sent McGee flying backwards and he fell on the hard ground, his back protesting against the rough treatment; he heard more than he saw the stone avalanche falling on the Taliban, who jumped back inside the cavern screaming with terror. Rocks tumbled down the slope, destroying everything in their path. A shower of granite, dust and pebbles landed near the entrance, crushing the body of _"Boutlir" _beyond recognition under tons of debris. The kidnappers' shouts of horror were soon muffled by the groaning of rocks relentlessly falling and banging together; within seconds, it was over.

Tim groaned in pain but he managed to roll on his side and take a look at the RPG's work: the cavern's entrance had been completely blocked by huge rocks, preventing any further attempt of running after an escaped prisoner. The sounds of an explosion, followed by the rumble of an avalanche could have alerted people from nearby villages or other Taliban group but Tim doubted it: explosions were unfortunately common in Afghanistan and, in a mountainous country, avalanches were quite frequent: villagers would hardly investigate in the middle of the night and it would be hard to find the location of a recent rock fall in the darkness.

Vertigo from blood loss seized the young man and, for a panicky minute, he thought he would pass out on the spot. But the dizzy spell was cut short by an image that sprung inside his mind: the picture of a phoenix bird rising from the ashes in triumph, screaming its rebirth in a blaze of glory, its strength and willpower regained and ready to take out the world….

Tim's green eyes cleared and he shook his head in order to overcome his physical weakness; he had not escaped the clutches of _"Boutlir"_ and locked his captors inside their own hideout to fail at the last minute – just like 'The lion and the gnat' fable where the gnat, after having vanquished the feline, got entrapped in a spider's web. The gnat's triumph ended before it could even have started but Tim would be damned before he would know the same fate. He would survive. For Aimee, for Roberts, for the guys… and for him.

He slowly got on his feet, dropped the RPG-7 to the ground – it was pointless to keep it since the warhead was gone, and it was too heavy to be used as a club; Tim started walking towards East, without a backward glance towards the cavern and the cloud of dust slowly rising from the fallen rocks.

* * *

><p><em>At ISAF…<em>

General Stephenson was in his office, scrutinizing field maps for the umpteenth time. He had barely slept or eaten since the last attack but his flint-stone eyes were as sharp as ever and his resolve set in stone. He had always felt outraged whenever patrols were attacked and his men killed, but this time it was personal: _McGee had been taken, and he would not stop until he would find him!_

It had not been a bed of roses telling the news to Director Vance; the man looked as if he wanted to jump in a plane for Afghanistan and beat the living daylights out of Stephenson after learning his agent had been snatched by terrorists. The General knew Vance by reputation and the man was not the kind to sit and wait while one of his own was in danger – neither was Stephenson and he had launched every available force on the search for his missing boy – but if the terrorists even manifested their demands with a video showing a bloodied McGee held at gunpoint… Well, Vance's reaction would be explosive, to say the least.

But there were more urgent matters than to worry about the possible actions of the Director of a federal agency. So far, the kidnappers had not sent any message, meaning they were busy beating the kid to a pulp to make sure he would not have the strength to escape and thus, it gave Allied forces a little time to find McGee; after the message would be sent, the rebels would probably move their hostage in another place, more remote and difficult to access, complicating the matter greatly. No, they could not wait for a proof of life; McGee had to be found, _at once! _He was too precious, too intelligent, too… exceptional to lose him, the very idea was simply unbearable.

Stephenson sighed and then he returned his attention towards his map, when a knock at his door interrupted his train of thoughts.

"Enter!"

The doorknob rattled a few times before finally turning, and Stephenson felt all the air being rushed out of his lungs: a pale, shaky and unstable on his feet Roberts entered his office and saluted him in the clumsiest manner!

"Roberts? But what in the world are you doing here? You should be in the hospital, you damn fool!" exclaimed the General, who wasted on time grabbing his _aide-de-camp_ and guiding him to the nearest chair.

"Begging your pardon, Sir," said Roberts with a slurred voice. "Couldn't stay in the hospital while you… are trying to find Mister McGee… I wanted to give you a hand for the… rescue."

"And what good you are to me if you're dead on your feet?"

"Please, Sir… Time is running out… If we wanna a chance to find McGee alive, we havta make fast…"

"Roberts, you're barely recovering from a concussion and shellshock," said the General firmly. "For God's sakes, you have been shot at by an RPG, man! What are you trying to do, kill yourself just to please the rebels?"

"No, Sir! It's just… _I failed protecting McGee, Sir!_"

Stephenson's eyes widened in surprise: never, in a million years, would he have imagined his Corporal giving such a statement. Roberts was the epitome of efficiency and he would have trusted his life to him!

"Where do these insanities come from, Roberts?"

"'Tis the truth, Sir! You entrusted me with McGee's security and I failed protecting him! He… protected me during the ambush. I remember, he dragged me out of the Humvee and I… Like a fool, I couldn't let go of the wheel! I got obsessed with the idea of driving, even though the Humvee… was a goner! Then I don't remember anything before… seeing Captain Wilkins hovering above me."

Roberts' eyes suddenly got filled with tears: "She's gone, ain't she… Sir?"

"Yes, Roberts, she is. We found her body nearby your vehicle," said Stephenson sadly, his hand squeezing the Corporal's shoulder in a gesture of comfort. The loss of Aimee Wilkins was indeed a bitter blow, and not only because of her medical skills. She had been a good soldier and she had fought bravely until the end, an example of courage and altruism and Stephenson would make sure her souvenir would be perpetuated at ISAF.

"Damn… McGee will be crushed… He liked her a lot, you know. And she liked him, too."

The General knew it was the concussion speaking, otherwise Roberts would never had been so indiscreet; however, it was too true: McGee had admitted his feelings towards Aimee Wilkins a few weeks ago and the news of her death would tear the young man apart – provided they would ever find him, of course, but Stephenson had vowed he would not leave this country without his boy. He did not care how much time or money would be needed to rescue McGee: he _would_ find him!

"McGee was firing at the enemy, Sir… He was protecting me and Captain Wilkins and Winters, and I didn't do anything… just trying to drive away from the scene… I kept looking for a wheel that had been destroyed, while a civilian was shooting at our attackers. What kind of a stupid idiot am I?" asked the Corporal through rapid, shallow breathings.

"Roberts, that's enough!"

"There was this big bang, and then I saw McGee… He shot at his laptop and the thing went to pieces before the Humwee got blown up… Then I saw a rebel nearby; he pointed his weapon right at me and I was certain it was the end, but McGee shot and killed him… _McGee saved my life twice that day, Sir, and I didn't do anything to help him_. _I couldn't move, I couldn't think of anything apart driving a Humvee, and I let them take McGee!"_

"Roberts!"

"Please, Sir, let me participate in the rescue mission… We havta find McGee… He's such a good man… Great brains… Great guy… Won't be able to forgive mesself if he gets killed by…"

The Corporal's eyes rolled in their sockets and he promptly lost consciousness in Stephenson's seat. The alarmed General searched for Roberts' pulse and found it beating too quickly beneath the clammy skin of his neck: shock and exhaustion had proved to be too much for his _aide-de-camp_. Stephenson grabbed his phone and dialed a number:

"Captain Bennett? This is General Stephenson…. Yes, I am quite aware you're missing a patient, and this patient happens to be Corporal Roberts…. Well, this escapee is right in my office as we speak, passed out on my chair! Yes, he has managed to sneak out of the hospital, which says long about your staff's competence, Captain…. Listen, I have enough on my plate right now so you will send two orderlies and a gurney right away to bring Corporal Roberts back to his bed, where he belongs! … I have no time for excuses, Captain. ISAF is under lock-up and it concerns every building of this base, including the hospital! Once the matter's over, you and I are going to have a serious discussion about the inattentiveness of your staff. Well, you'd better!"

Stephenson hung up the phone with a sigh and glanced at his unconscious Corporal; Roberts was too loyal for his own good, a quality that made him an exemplary _aide-de-camp_ and it seemed that some of his loyalty had been transferred to McGee, as well. Not that the General resented it: he had unofficially adopted Tim right after the young man had stepped foot in Afghanistan and if Roberts felt as protective towards McGee as he did to Stephenson, more power to him. However, the Corporal did not have to foolishly compromise his health out of devotion for his superior and it was taking Stephenson's all his self-control to not dash at the hospital and punch Captain Bennett on the nose, for the crime of running a crew of idiots!

The General rubbed at his face; getting mad at Bennett or Roberts would not help, neither would falling apart at the thoughts of the torments his boy was enduring at the hands of the Taliban He needed to keep his nerves under control if he wanted to find McGee but he had not felt such despair since the terrible days of his loved ones' deaths. Clara, Christopher… would fate also snatch Tim away from him?

No, not until Alexander Stephenson could still draw breath! Grabbing the maps, he looked at the intricate lines and muttered between gritted teeth:

"Hold on, son. I'm coming for you. Hold on tight and I will get you out of this hellhole. Just stay alive!"

TBC…


	55. A determination

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

_- Joe versus the Volcano_ is a 1990 film starring Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan (from Wikipedia).

_- Much Ado About Nothing_ is a comedic play by William Shakespeare (1564-1616) written around 1598-1599 (from Wikipedia). It had been adapted in a film in 1993 by Kenneth Branagh.

_- Saving Private Ryan_ (1998) American war film directed by Steven Spielberg.

- To AS: I will keep up the good work, don't worry! ;-)

- To Russian guest: thanks!

- To Gast: thank you for your review. Yes, there is a copy of Tim's software and three guesses where he hid it?

- To Guest: I'm trying to post a new chapter every Saturday!

- To NCISaddictionMcGeek: hi! Yes, Tim will feel guilty for Aimee's death but a few firm words from Stephenson will set the record straight.

- To Earthdragon: I agree with you, boy and girl scouts are usually overlooked whereas kids can only benefit from learning how to survive in the wild and respect Nature.

- To starjems88: I'm afraid Tim will have to rely only on his resources to get out of the desert.

- To None: thank you very much for your kind words!

- To RedDragen: I hope you'll like this chapter as well.

- To Ollie2611: Roberts is loyal to the core, and Gibbs will learn a great lesson watching him standing by Tim.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 55: A resolution<strong>

_Twenty thousand feet up in the air and above the Mediterranean Sea…_

Ziva glanced at her travelling companion: Gibbs, seated on the floor and leaning against one of the walls of the freight plane, seemed to be dozing but the young woman was not fooled. She knew her boss was sleeping like a cat – with one eye opened, remaining aware of his surroundings at all times. She could not blame him for this, though; she would have done the same thing if her mind had not been filled with worries about McGee.

The trip was smelly, uncomfortable and noisy, but Ziva thanked her lucky stars they had been able to board in it. The pilot they had bribed could assure them safe passage to Turkey but certainly not the usual commodities found in commercial airlines, but neither Gibbs nor Ziva were the kind to complain about trifles. Besides, travelling by regular planes was quite out of the question with their bags full of weapons and Vance's wrath that would be soon unleashed above their heads. So instead, they had taken a private jet to London and they had switched for a lot-less-comfortable cargo plane currently transporting them for Istanbul along with tons of crates.

With no seats, no private bathrooms and no entertainment, Ziva had opted for a sleepless night, sitting near the crates secured by nets and belts. She had been thinking about the slow and painful chastisements she would inflict on Tim's kidnappers once she would get her hands on them. She had chosen the time and ways she would make them pay – with interests – and the bill would be outstanding. Oh, they would regret having ever breathed around her friend, for sure…

"Ziver," said Gibbs, without opening his eyes.

"Mmm?"

"Stop thinking."

Ziva grunted at those words. Gibbs could as well order her to stop breathing, while he was at it!

"And no insolence," added the Team Leader.

"I haven't said a word."

"No, but you're thinking too loudly. I could hear you from the other side of this plane."

"Abby may claim all over NCIS that you have ESP but I don't believe for a minute you have the power to read minds and, least you forget, it is thanks to my connections we've been authorized to hop aboard this cargo transport to go to Istanbul… _Boss_," added Ziva with a meaningful tone on this last word. The ex-Mossad officer was still crossed at Gibbs for the fiasco with Tony (ref. the MTAC lie), with Abby (ref. the scandal at the lab) and, first and foremost, for the whole situation with Tim (ref. Afghanistan and the kidnapping).

Ziva had been thinking long and hard since McGee had left DC and, in retrospect, she was wondering whatever had possessed Gibbs to run a team with such a attitude mixing permissiveness with tyranny. On one hand, Tony and Abby had been granted the right to behave like spoiled children all year along; on the other hand, McGee had been left out in the cold and scolded for the slightest misstep. There was nothing to be wild about the total: a split-up team, a kidnapped computer tech, and two federal agents in an illegal rescue mission. This was simply great! Ziva was eternally grateful to Tony and Gibbs for having saved her in Somalia, but it did not mean she was compelled to approve blindly every of their mean actions towards Tim –her special man who had not hesitated for a second to go to Africa and rescue her from Saleem.

"We'll find him, David," said Gibbs, finally opening his eyes to look at his insubordinate subordinate.

"Of course, we will!" exclaimed the young woman. "And I don't care if our presence will create a diplomatic incident, or if we trend on the CIA toes or even if the ISAF big periwig doesn't approve of our presence. I'll demolish each and every mountain in Afghanistan if needed, but _I-won't-leave-this-country-without-Tim!_"

Gibbs had a half-smile at those words – the first one to ever grace his lips since the fateful day of Tim's departure. Ziva was the kind of woman who would return every pebble of the Afghani desert for the slightest chance to find a clue about her missing teammate, while cutting into ribbons the first person who would dare to disturb her investigations.

"I'm more worried about what will happen after we've rescued Tim," added Ziva.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean it isn't certain Tim will want to work for us once he's back in DC safe and sound. Considering our past actions towards him, I won't be surprised if he asked for a transfer in another department, or even on the West Coast."

"**No! I won't let him. He's mine!"** exploded Gibbs.

"Sorry, Gibbs, but Tim isn't **yours**. He doesn't belong to you and I've always found very strange that possessiveness of yours about him, like you're scared to death that someone will offer him a better job. Well, this Afghanistan mission has proven something at least: Tim's a free man and you don't have any power over his decisions. You're only his boss and he can drop you like a sock if he wants to; people resign from their jobs every day and there's nothing you can do to prevent this."

"Why would he leave?"

"Why wouldn't he? It's not as if we've given him lots of reasons to stay with us."

Gibbs glared at Ziva but the young woman replied with a hard look of her unyielding dark eyes. After a while, the silver-haired man let out a sigh: he had to admit it, she was right. Tim had left DC with the certainty that his boss hated his guts and his teammates did not give a damn about the dangers he would face in Afghanistan. With Abby's scene in the bullpen on top of everything, what was left for Tim at NCIS? Absolutely nothing to look forward to! Gibbs remembered Tim describing himself as '_a tool'_,_ 'the Jester'_, the _'fifth wheel'_, the one who was always run down: feeling unwanted and unimportant, the kid had jumped on the first occasion to flee NCIS and his ungracious teammates. After he would be brought back to DC, Tim would probably resign and in the following hour, there would be a dozen of sharks in suits proposing mind-blowing jobs.

Gibbs felt acid filling up his stomach at the thought of his youngest working for the FBI, the CIA (he could even meet Kort there!), or even a multi-million dollar computer company offering a corner office at the top of a tower made of glass, using his genius to design the latest Smartphone or a program that would 'read' the thoughts of users by electronic telepathy… whereas Gibbs would be left in the dust.

"I'll give him a reason to stay with us."

"Gibbs! If you ever touch Tim, you'll answer to me – and I'm not joking!"

"No, not like this, Ziver! I meant… I will talk to Tim and make him realize he's a valuable member of our team."

A grimace answered the Team Leader's words: apparently, Ziva was not convinced of her boss' ability to straighten such a fragile situation. Tim was discouraged about his co-workers and Gibbs' usual means of persuasion – brusqueness, ordering about, threats – would be ineffectual in his case. What McGee needed was the absolute proof that he was more to his teammates than a 'geek' but, after years of belittlement, Ziva was not sure he would believe them...

Gibbs saw the grimace but said nothing. Ziva had valuable reasons to doubt his resolution: _finesse_ was not his strong suit. Like Abby, he preferred to bulldozer his way through other people's feelings to get what he wanted and to Hell with consequences – an attitude that worked wonders while investigating murder cases, but was certainly lousy in everyday life. But Gibbs was determined in getting Tim back at any costs, even if it implied making amends until the day he would retire.

Gibbs remembered parts of a conversation he had with Ducky at the morgue, a few hours before Tim had gone to Base Andrews:

_(Flashback)_

"_Timothy needed you as a mentor and a friend. He idolizes you and he would have jumped into a fire gladly if it could have saved your life. But the only things he got for his devotion have been Anthony's sarcasms, Abigail's silly games and your stone-like silence fueled by your famous motto about never acknowledging your wrongs. Then a general showed up and snatched Timothy away, leaving a lot of regrets behind. Apologizing is not your weakness, Jethro: your pride is."_

"_Ducky, I love that boy!"_

"_I know that, but Timothy doesn't! And you may have lost your chance to ever tell him."_

_(End flashback)_

"I **will** get a second chance," muttered Gibbs between gritted teeth. "I will tell him…"

"What?" asked Ziva, who had not heard correctly over the racket of the cargo plane's roaring motors.

"I said, I will talk to Tim. I'll tell how much I appreciate him face to face, man to man, without the usual boss-and-subordinate relationship we have at the office. No pressure, no retaliations, he'll be allowed to say everything that weigh on his conscience, regardless of how disagreeable it can be for me. Tim will agree to listen; he's a very forgivable person."

"Forgiving is not forgetting, Gibbs. He may have forgiven us in the past in order to keep the team's coherence and to preserve our careers, but his mission has made him seen other horizons and Tim may not feel as duty-bound as before towards us. He has worked with other people who treated him with _respect_; he has been able to fully use his intelligence without being _criticized_ for it; he has realized having _physical resources_ he didn't even know he possessed. Why would he give up all this for a bunch of stupid persons who have mocked him for years? I wouldn't, if I were in his boots."

Ziva curled up against the plane's wall and tried to find a more comfortable position to resume her vigil. Gibbs, his eyes as cold as blue ice, remained silent for the rest of the trip. She was right, once again and the very possibility of Tim not wanting to work for him anymore was heart-wrenching – but he would not let this terrible idea sap his determination in finding his son. Ziva was not the only one wanting to demolish a whole country in order to find someone dear. His Tim had been taken by terrorists and Gibbs would tear the perpetrators from limb to limb until they would relent and give his baby back – and to Hell with Vance and General What's-his-name at ISAF. The Team Leader was ready to face early retirement, sacking or even a stay in jail for having illegally rescued one of his own in a foreign country. He had already done it in the past a few times – the latest in Somalia – and he was more than ready to do it again for his youngest son.

Gibbs **would** find Tim and he **would** bring him back to DC alive and well. Once the mission was over, the young man could kick him out of his life and curse his name, Gibbs did not care; he was ready to sacrifice his career at NCIS or his freedom as long as Tim was safe. It was a small price to pay to save his youngest one's life.

* * *

><p><em>At NCIS...<em>

"Agent DiNozzo! My office, now!" roared the voice of Director Vance from the mezzanine.

All heads turned towards Tony, who frowned at this sudden outburst to hide his surprise. Now, what? He had arrived at the office early in the morning to make sure everybody would see him hard at work (in the hopes it would look good for the review board's next session) but, after a few hours, he was beginning to feel uneasy: neither Gibbs nor Ziva had shown up this morning. In normal circumstances, Tony would have rung his Boss and his partner but he was not in their good book those days. The ex-Mossad officer's reaction after learning about his little joke at MTAC had been... damaging, to say the least, and the Senior Agent's nose had not yet recovered from being repetitively punched on at the morgue. And Gibbs had not made it a mystery that he had been highly disappointed by Tony, a blow harder than the ones Ziva had throw at his face.

So Tony had not dared to phone either of them, fearing to make another goof that would bring hellfire and punishment over his head once again but he was starting to feel very lonely. During all his years at NCIS, the Senior Agent always had his teammates to listen to his tall stories and lousy jokes. Being without his private audience was something new for Tony and he did not like it in the slightest...

The bellow and Vance's furious face made Tony realize it would not be wise to make him wait; but he was not keen on facing the Director on his own, though. The rare times Tony had been summoned upstairs, Gibbs had always accompanied him as back-up or attorney. The Team Leader's absence increased the stress of the situation...

"I did say _**now**_, Agent DiNozzo!"

Tony got on his feet and growled at the other agents' ironic glances. It felt like they were enjoying a private joke at his expense and he hated this kind of situation. It was him who laughed at others, not the other way 'round!

"What's so funny?" asked Tony to Agent Purcell.

"You don't look so hot where you're on your own, DiNozzo... Is it because Gibbs isn't here to clean up your usual mess?"

"Mind your own business if you know what's good for you, Purcell!"

"Poor DiNozzo! You may think you're some kind of 'Super-Agent' with a cape but every time the Kryptonite shows up, you're nothing but a Clark Kent-wannabe who cheats in order to save what you laughingly call your career. Not a very impressive superhero, I daresay; Christopher Reeve, you're not!"

"Whaddaya mean? I'm a highly qualified Agent and I've solved thousands of murders so gruesome it would have scared the living daylights of the most hardened veterans; nothing can unnerve me!"

"Except for the Kryptonite and, in your case, its name is McGee..."

"**DiNOZZO!"**

Tony turned his back on Purcell and climbed the flight of stairs without adding another word. He should not have wasted time since it was never a wise move to make Vance wait, and he was ready to bet ten-to-one the man's ire had increased a few points in less than thirty seconds. So Tony was to face a mountain spouting burning lava on his own, without any back-up, mentor or excuses to protect him from scalding burns, *sigh*.

"_It's Tony versus the Volcano," _thought the Senior Agent, deliberately misquoting the movie with Tom Hanks to ease his spirits as he reached Vance's office. Out of habit, he flashed a smile at Pam, the Director's assistant, but the glare he got in return made his blood turn cold. During his prestigious career as a law enforcement officer, Tony had faced killers with kinder eyes…

"Er.. What's the problem, Pam?"

"You have to ask?" replied the woman, her face like a thundercloud.

"But what I have ever done to you?"

"The real question is: what have you done to McGee?"

Tony cringed inwardly; he had forgotten Pam was very fond of his colleague and she had not hesitated telling Vance about Abby chatting away with her, calling McGee a _'party-pooper'_ and wishing he would not be her escort in Mexico. Shocked by the lab rat's insouciance, Pam had transgressed Gibbs' unwritten rule (never oppose to Abby) and had reported this incident to the Director. Needless to say, Vance had not been thrilled learning about the lab rat's steadfast refusal to obey McGee, and only that nasty business with Paloma Reynosa had prevented Abby to face disciplinary actions. After the case had been done with,

"Look, I'm sorry, okay?"

"Who are you trying to fool, you hypocrite? You hated McGee and you've never made a mystery of it."

"What? But…"

"Well, you should be happy: McGee's as good as dead. You won't be overshadowed by his intelligence; you remain the only male agent of Team Gibbs; you have Agent David and that pest Sciuto all for yourself. Isn't life grant?"

"Hey, wait a minute! I've never asked for…"

"Director Vance is waiting for you, Very Stupid Agent DiNozzo, and if I were you I'd jump to it… He's not willing to wait for your _bon plaisir._"

Tony grumbled something unpleasant between his perfectly-white teeth and pushed open the door of Vance's office.

"Director, I…"

"_**Don't you ever knock?"**_

Oops, he had forgotten this mark of politeness. Then again, he had seen his mentor barging into the Director's workplace so many times that Tony had just imitated Gibbs without thinking.

"Oh! Er… I'm sorry, Director Vance. It's just…"

"Get your ass in here and shut up, DiNozzo."

Tony obeyed without adding another comment and stood in front of Vance's desk, inwardly wondering what could have angered the man so much. It could not be about the little stunt he had pulled at MTAC! Ducky had assured him that dirty little whistleblower of Sam Wilson would keep his mouth shut until McGee would be back in the States. But the kidnapping could have changed the whole game: maybe Wilson had thought Tim was a goner and had decided to 'avenge' him by ratting Tony out to Vance, thus ruining his reputation at NCIS.

"Agent DiNozzo, do you have any idea where Agent Gibbs and Agent David are?"

The Senior Agent's eyes widened slightly at the embarrassing question. He could hardly tell a fuming Vance that he had not the slightest idea where the Team Leader and the ex-Mossad were and he had not tried to reach them on the phone, since they were not on speaking terms with him after the little joke he had played on McGee.

"No Sir, I don't."

"Have you tried to contact them?"

"The battery of my phone went dead, Sir," replied Tony, thinking fast. "I forgot to plug it on last night as I was upset about McGee's kidnapping and…"

"In that case, I'm going to save you a lot of trouble, Agent DiNozzo. You won't be able to reach Gibbs or David, simply because they have dropped their phones at home before leaving for Afghanistan."

"**WHAT?!"** exclaimed a startled Tony.

"You've heard right, Agent DiNozzo. It appears that Gibbs and David have left the USA to search for McGee in Kabul, in spite of my strict orders. When they get back, there will be Hell to pay. I'm gonna give Gibbs such a kick in the backside, he'll rue the day he ever got hired in NCIS. As for David, she'll be sent back to Tel-Aviv with my regards!"

DiNozzo staggered, completely floored by the astonishing news. Never, not in a million years, would he have imagined Gibbs setting up a rescue mission without him! Tony was second-in-command, the most experienced of the group, the reliable one; he knew his trade to the end of his fingernails and he was an expert in undercover jobs; he had been promoted Team Leader right after Gibbs had retired in Mexico! Hatching a scheme without Very Special Agent DiNozzo was an absurdity, a guarantee of failure. Gibbs simply could not have left for Afghanistan with Ziva and leave his best agent in DC!

"I'm sorry, Director, but are you certain Gibbs has left? Maybe the whole thing is just a mistake. Maybe…"

"You want a proof, DiNozzo? Well, listen to this!"

The volcanic Vance took out his cell phone and hit the loudspeaker button: Gibbs' disincarnated voice came out of the electronic device and Tony paled a bit more as he heard:

"_Leon, this is Gibbs. By the time you'll get this voicemail, I'll be off to Afghanistan. Don't try to call me, don't try to localize me and for Heaven's sake don't try to stop me or I won't answer for my actions. I'm gonna find Tim and bring him back to DC, whatever the costs. And I don't care about his secret project or if Kabul is crawling with Marines looking for him or the operations of General Should-have-known-better! Ziva is with me so don't try to call her, either. Tell Tony to stay at NCIS, hold the fort and take care of Abby. Also, tell Ducky that I've thought about what he said concerning McGee and he was right all along. This expedition is of my own doing; I'm sole responsible so don't be angry at Ziva. See you soon, Leon."_

The Director turned off the loudspeaker and threw the phone with an exasperate gesture, before glaring at Tony.

"I received this message first thing in the morning, and I've spent hours trying to find out from which airport your wandering colleagues have departed from – so far, no luck, which makes me think Agent David has used her Mossad contacts to find a plane. You'd better tell me you were completely ignorant of their intentions, Agent DiNozzo."

"Director Vance, I assure you… I'm as surprised as you are. Gibbs told me nothing about a rescue mission!"

"Gibbs is done here. Even if he finds McGee and brings him back safe and sound, he'll still be finished. His reckless action has not only endangered McGee's chances to be rescued by our troops abroad, but it could also compromise the secret project your colleague has worked on it for months. It is borderline treason, and I'll have one Hell of a time trying to calm down the top guys at the Pentagon!"

"McGee's project is _**that**_ important?" asked Tony incredulously.

"Get your head out of your navel for the first time of your life, DiNozzo! Regardless of what your bruised ego may say, McGee didn't go abroad just for the pleasure to spite you; he is involved in a project that could save millions of lives, for God's sakes! Why did you think he couldn't tell you or Gibbs a word about it?"

"But, Sir… I just thought McGee was involved in some worthless electronic gizmo and it was much ado about nothing…"

"It's high time you'd stop underestimating McGee, Di Nozzo! And don't quote Shakespeare to me; it won't make you appear more intelligent as I damn well know you've barely read twenty books in your life."

Tony frowned in displeasure. It was true he had not read a line from Shakespeare but one of his former squeezes had dragged him to the movie theater once to see the adaptation of this play by Kenneth Branagh. Tony had fallen asleep after half an hour of the movie and his girlfriend had dumped him on the spot, not one of his proudest moments.

"Now, as I was saying, your Team Leader and your colleague have left the States without my permission to search for your missing other colleague so here's a word of warning, Agent DiNozzo: you'd better remain in DC and be at your desk every weekday at 8 o'clock sharp, otherwise you won't have a future left at NCIS. Any attempt in tagging along Gibbs and David in this foolhardy, harebrained initiative will cost you your badge and you'll face a long stay in jail wearing an orange jumpsuit, do you hear?"

DiNozzo nodded, but deep down he was seething with anger. He had been abandoned. Gibbs had left him behind. He had organized a secret rescue without him! That was so unfair; Tony had proven his worth time and time again, but especially when they had infiltrated Somalia. He had endured the heat, the ever-present danger, mistreatments at the hands of Saleem for hours. A man of his stature could not be overlooked! How could Gibbs do such a thing? He had no right to chose Ziva over him! They had no right to keep him in the dark about this rescue!

After the shock and the anger came fear: with both Gibbs and Ziva in Afghanistan, it made three of the team in mortal peril and Tony would be powerless to help them. Doubtless he would be under surveillance 24/7, judging by the murderous expression on Vance's face; the Senior Agent won't have a chance of flying under the radar and join his boss and the ninja girl in their 'Saving Agent McGee' mission, even though it would have been a golden opportunity to erase his disastrous session in front of the review board. A heroic Tony would have come back to DC showered with honors with McGee in tow, just like the time they had saved Ziva, and Vance would have no other choice than to re-instate him. And Gibbs had robbed him of this chance!

"**I said "Do you hear", Agent DiNozzo!"**

"Sir, yes Sir!" said Tony, snapping out of his reverie.

"Good! So you'd better go back to your desk and keep a sharp eye on the screens. As far as the other agents know, word is I have sent Gibbs and David to our Los Angeles bureau to help on a murder case while you remain here on probation, filing up cold cases. I will hold you personally responsible if one peep about their little stunt in Afghanistan is ever spread throughout the bullpen – meaning you'd better keep your mouth shut around Miss Sciuto. She's **your** responsibility and for your sake, she'd better stay at the lab and concentrate on analysis as I don't need her making another hysterical number in the bullpen! Doctor Mallard and Doctor Palmer are not aware of the situation and it will remain this way until further notice. You're dismissed."

Tony left the office and did not spare a glance at Pamela, as he was reeling and insensible from his conversation with Vance. Gibbs was gone. His mentor, his surrogate father had benched him; Tony was not good enough for Gibbs anymore!

TBC…


	56. An illusion

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- To Guest: oh yes, there will be more chapters!

- To iceandfire: thank you very much for your kind words. It's nice of you to think my English is readable.

- To RedDragen: Tim is heading towards ISAF but he will meet someone on the way… a rogue ;-)

- To Guest: Tony indeed needs to learn to shut up and stop being an unfunny clown. He genuinely cares for his teammates but he's too proud to admit it, out of fear sentiments would somehow 'weaken' him.

- To None: Tony isn't stupid enough to tell Abby what's going on but she will certainly insist wildly and it's not a wise thing to do, especially with Volcano Vance fuming in the background.

- To Lisa: thank you very much!

_- Razorback_ is a 1984 Australian horror movie directed by Russell Mulcahy.

- Béla Ferenc Dezső Blaskó (1882 – 1956) or Béla Lugosi was a Hungarian actor, best known for playing Dracula in the 1931 film (from Wikipedia).

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 56: An illusion<strong>

_The Afghani desert at night..._

Tim was walking like an old man, his eyes fixed on the W-shaped constellation of Cassiopeia. Each step was as painful as the precedent and it took him all his will-power to keep on going, heading East towards Kabul, ISAF and safety. He was covered with blood, his body was aching everywhere, the desert was freezing cold and he had hardly slept since he had escaped from the terrorists' hellhole, three nights ago. He had saved the meager food stolen from _'Boutlir' _as much as possible but the whole lot had nonetheless been consumed way too quickly, and there was not a drop of tea left in the flask. Tim had nothing left but Massoud's clothes on his back, the Dark Dove and '_Boutlir'_ cell phone: nothing eatable and the opportunities to order a pizza were nil.

The phone was tucked safely in one of his pockets, but Tim did not dare using it to call for help. He could accidentally call Miller's number and the Sergeant would be astonished to hear a prisoner talking freely on the phone - causing him to flee ISAF like the proverbial rats – or even one of Farhad's accomplices – who would want to avenge his fellow terrorists by tracking down the escaped American lord. No, Tim was on his own, with only his brains and his good sense to get out of this desert. But how long would his luck hold? He was wounded, without supplies or a vehicle, and enemies could run at his heels any time.

Seeking assistance from villagers was quite out the question since a) Tim's chivalrous nature refused to expose potential good Samaritans to retaliations and b) he had no way to know said villagers would not turn him over to the Taliban. In a war-torn country, it was hard to discern friends from foes and Tim had not escaped the clutches of _'Boutlir'_ and his minions to get thrown back into the wolf's mouth out of naiveté. His faith in human nature had matured over the years – thanks to disastrous experiences like with Amanda or Nick Miller, his landlady's son – and he would be damned before doing something foolish that could compromise his freedom, after Aimee and his friends had died for it.

_Aimee..._

A tear escaped from his green eyes and rolled on his cheek, drawing a tiny clear path through the grim and dust covering his face. Aimee... His beautiful, marvelous Aimee! Tim's heart was ripped apart at the thought he could not mourn her, not for the time being and he hated this situation! He wanted nothing but to drop on the ground and cry from the injustice of her death, Roberts' and the others but he also knew it would be pure folly to surrender to despair. Tim had only one tiny chance to get out of this mess alive and it included walking for hours in the desert by night, keeping his strength and stay constantly on the alert. He had to be like a robot: focused on one single goal and ignoring all emotions.

"_ISAF's gates," _thought McGee as the tear dried on his face. _"Once I reach ISAF's gates, I will grieve Aimee, I swear it. And I don't care if 'real men' don't cry, according to Tony. I don't care if it'll make me look like a weakling in front of the other Marines. I don't care if it'll embarrass General Stephenson. I don't care about anything. Just the gates, ISAF's gates; I just have to stay focused on reaching those gates, and I'll be free to cry. And to reach the gates, I have to follow Cassiopeia. Concentrate on the stars, Timmy; they will guide you home – no, they will guide you to ISAF's gates and then, everything will be fine."_

His resolve firmer, Tim turned his gaze upwards and saw his favorite constellation shining in the sky. Just walk east, find a road, reach the base… He could do it. He could do it in spite of his wounds, his empty stomach, parched throat, the headache slicing his brains like a melon. He was capable…

"**Capable, Probie? In your dreams, yeah!"**

Tim nearly jumped out of his skin; he turned around and saw Tony standing right behind him, dressed to the nines and with a million-dollar smile plastered on his face, acting as nonchalantly as if he were hitting on the ladies in a crowded discotheque.

"Tony?! What are you doing here?"

"**I'm just enjoying the view, Probie. I knew you weren't cut for a big-boy mission abroad, and I was right. You're lost, you're doomed, you're food for the vultures. And it's for this brilliant result that you left NCIS? Everybody told you to stay behind your computer in DC since you're too soft to face the realities of life but noooo, you had to make your teenage angst and throw crap at our faces! You made a mockery of Gibbs' authority! And on top of everything, you pretended being involved in the creation of a revolutionary gizmo to hide the fact you're nothing but a show-off!"**

"The Watcher _**is**_ working," said Tim between clenched teeth.

"**Whatever. It's not impressive, and neither are you. Poor Probie, wandering in the wild after having gotten his whole escort killed… Good men who died simply because McEgghead had to run some tests in the desert to ****blow his own horn in front of General Madman****. It's your fault the Marines died; you'll have their deaths on your conscience for the few hours you have left to live. Ah!"** snorted the apparition of Tony with contempt,** "this attack would never have happened if ****I**** had been in charge of the convoy. I'm street-smart, more experienced and you don't have a chance to surpass my professional skills. Unlike you, I don't need an electronic thingy cobbled together by a science nerd to spot enemies around. I trust my gut, just like Gibbs!"**

"For the record, guts are full of excrements and so are you, Tony," muttered Tim, turning his back to his co-worker. Then, his eyes widened in realization: there were no way in Hell Tony could be in Afghanistan!

McGee turned about again and indeed, the image of DiNozzo had vanished from the vicinity. All he could see was the darkened desert, the moonlight and a few mountains silhouetted against the sky. But Tony's mocking voice still rang inside his head:

"**Ooooh, he made a funny! That's new coming from you, McLame – usually, you bore people to tears after you've talked for five seconds! Boring, nerdy, stuttering and insecure, you don't have a chance to be elected 'Federal Agent Poster Boy of the Year'. That's a title entirely reserved for me, **_**got it?**_** I'm the only one around with the skills of a federal agent, **_**got it?**_** I'm Gibbs' adopted son and not you, **_**got it?**_**"**

"Shut up! You sound like _'Boutlir'_," said Tim, covering his ears with his hands to keep the hallucination away.

"**Yeah, another fine mess you got yourself into with that arm dealer, McRambo. Once again, you've proven being unable to stay five minutes on your own without getting into trouble – then again, why wouldn't the baddies target you? You're pathetic, the born victim, an idiot who believe in goodness whereas only the strong survives. Now we'll have to travel halfway round the world to save your sorry ass, even though you had nothing to do in Afghanistan in the first place!"**

"Oh, don't worry about me, I can manage – just like I've managed to survive your so-called 'training', which was nothing but hazing from sunrise to sunset. But over the years, I've developed a thick skin against your meanness and I've become a real federal agent."

"**What, you're still dreaming? You're nothing but a pale imitation with delusions of grandeur, a Probie who whines because he's not allowed to play in the grown-ups playground. You really think you can walk your way to Kabul?"**

"I can and I will," said Tim, his throat hurting from thirst. "Now, shut up, Tony! I know you're not here. It's an illusion playing with my head. Tony's not here, _Tony's not here_."

Only the calm of the night answered Tim, who staggered but kept on walking. The rational part of his brains was warning him of the perils of his situation. Hallucinating about an absent co-worker in the middle of the desert was not a good sign; in fact it could only mean one thing: delirium caused by dehydration. Tim had no food or water left and he had not a clue about the miles separating him from ISAF. How much time had he left before he would hallucinate 'till he would lost his way, collapse and die in the dust?

Strangely, images jumped inside to his delirious mind: it was a movie called _Razorback_ that Tony had insisted watching during one of his interminable movie sessions at his place. In the movie, the hero got lost in the Australian desert and sunstroke gave him horrible visions – his murdered wife, the monstrous Razorback wild boar, demented hunters, resurrected skeletons of animals and sky-reaching mountains. Of course, the hero would later collapse in exhaustion near a house to be rescued by a beautiful woman, but Tim sincerely doubted he would be so lucky. One lost soul in the desert could find help in Australia but not in Afghanistan, where centuries of war had torn apart the country to the point that nobody trusted anyone.

A growl was suddenly heard, and Tim sighed in resignation:

"Now what, Tony?"

The growl increased in volume; the young man, getting a bad feeling about this, turned around again but this time, it was not a figment of his imagination mocking his predicament: it was a pair of shining, malevolent yellow eyes staring at him.

Tim nearly screamed at the apparition, but then it growled again and he realized it was a beast – to be precise, a wild dog. Ducky had warned in his notebook about those animals roaming in the desert in packs, scavenging whatever food they could find and howling at the moon at night. They could be tamed with offerings of food and lots of patience, but Afghani people usually shoot them as wild dogs could be dangerous towards the ones raised to guard sheep. Also, those canines usually eat carrion but they would not mind having a go at an isolated, wounded prey or at a man in Tim's situation.

McGee frantically looked around but there were no other pairs of shining eyes. Apparently, the wild dog was alone – probably cast out of his pack for being too old or too slow, and having to hunt on his own to survive. The beast had picked up a scent of blood coming out of the tall human about half an hour ago. Half-starved, the animal wanted fresh flesh for dinner in spite of having learnt from previous experiences that this kind of prey could be dangerous, especially when weaving around those long sticks letting out fire, death and terrifying noises. But the wild dog was confident in his choice: the human was alone, injured and there was not a long stick in sight. It would be easy!

Tim looked at the predator, which was getting ready to jump at his throat, its teeth bared for the kill, its claws unsheathed. The young man's left hand disappeared into the folds of his large shirt…

The dog launched itself at him.

The Dark Dove sprang into Tim's hand.

In one swift movement, the blade sank into the beast's throat, catching the animal in mid-air.

The wild dog let out one last pitiful whine before dropping on the ground like a rock, its throat torn open by the Dark Dove. It was dead before it could realize what had happened.

Tim never hesitated a second: he kneeled by the fallen animal and retrieved the knife, cleaning the blade by sweeping it hastily on the dirty, matted fur. Then he steeled both his mind and his stomach for what he was going to do and drank the blood pouring from out of the dog's wound. A revolting thing to do, it felt like imitating Bela Lugosi in one of those black-and-white old horror movies Tony cherished so much, but blood plasma was composed by 92 per cent of water and contained dissipated proteins, glucose and mineral ions amongst other things. One could be worried about diseases carried by the wild dog's bloodstream but a man dying of thirst in the desert could not be finicky about the liquids he could find to drink; Ducky mentioned in his guide that some lost soldiers had been reduced to drink urine to survive! Tim did not even have this option – he had not had enough to drink lately to fill up his bladder – so the only choice left was the blood oozing from the animal's wound.

Tim swallowed one mouthful, tried not to grimace from the taste, drank, swallowed again, almost chocked. His stomach protested about the nature of the liquid it was receiving but the young man knew he would not vomit. In spite of what his teammates in DC may think, his stomach was strong enough to endure any kind of situation – apart from being on moving waters.

He drank until he could not stand it any longer, and then got up on his feet: other predators would come, alerted by the copper scent and Tim would not be able to fend them off, even with the invaluable help of the Dark Dove. It was better to distance himself quickly from his victim…

"**You knifed that innocent dog?"**

Tim nearly spat the blood that remained inside his mouth out of surprise: this time, it was Abby who had appeared out of nowhere!

"Abby! What on Earth?"

"**Have you knifed that dog?"** repeated Abby in full Goth attire, her pigtails scattered with sharp nails and her face like thunder.

"Well, yes… But it was…"

"**Murderer! Killer! Monster! You've killed it! You've killed a dog! That innocent animal with the sweet eyes, you massacred him! Assassin, butcher, criminal, slaughterer! You should be locked up in jail for the rest of your life for this! You ought to be beheaded in a public place, or burn at the stake! How dare you do such a thing! Oh the poor, poor doggie!"**

"Are you mad? It tried to kill me!"

"**I don't care! You count for nothing; the dog was worth a lot more than you – in fact, any dog is worthier than you! I haven't forgotten the fact you shot Jethro in cold blood, just because you wanted to save your sorry skin. A few bites wouldn't have killed you, but you're such a baby that you preferred a poor dog to suffer rather than you! And after I've proven Jethro's innocence, you didn't want to take him in, you selfish bastard!"**

Tim was about to lose his temper, but he remembered just in time his previous 'encounter' with Tony. It was another hallucination, a phantasmagoria created by lack of water, too much sun and the recent absorption of blood containing God knew what infections. So the young man steeled his mind and replied:

"Go away, Abby. You're nothing but an image of my delirium. Just go away and leave me alone."

"**Go away? How dare you talk to me like that? And you're ordering me about? I'll tell Gibbs!"**

"Tell him whatever you want, it won't make any difference. He'll side with you as usual, no matter how outrageous your behavior has been."

"**And now you're accusing me!"**

"Good grief, have you listened to yourself lately?" asked Tim, walking away from the dead wild dog like an old man plagued with arthritis. "Do you realize what you've just said? My life isn't worth a dog's; I ought to be beheaded for defending my life; I've made a fuss about nothing after Jet attacked me, and so on and so forth."

"**His name is Jethro! Not 'Jet'!"**

"His name _**is**_ Jet. That's what is written on his pet tag, and it's the name I've got him registered when he got tattooed inside the ear at the vet's. You've forced my hand in adopting him but, by golly, you won't catch me calling him by Gibbs' first name. I don't want Jet to turn into a tyrant and a bully, at the image of your acting adopted father."

"**You dare? You dare to criticize Gibbs?"**

"Yes, I do – and I don't care if you run and cry on his shoulder! I don't regret leaving DC to work for General Stephenson; I don't care if my departure has caused a commotion at NCIS and guess what? I don't even care if you've been in trouble with Vance."

"**Oh! Of all the rotten nerve!"**

"Yeah, you've been in the dog house recently, haven't you? Very appropriate!" asked Tim with a slight smile on his lips. He would have said more but his throat was not hydrated enough to carry on talking.

After a few minutes, he turned about and realized the Abby-image was gone, just like Tony's earlier, and her voice had shut down as well. There was nothing behind him but a barely-discernible lump on the ground, the body of the wild dog. Another illusion, another step forward madness… Tim felt like crying again but all that got out of his parched lips were short, dry sobs. It was so unfair; his life was going to end in a foreign country and the only dying visions he could have were of his nemesis Tony and his fake friend Abby. How about Aimee? Stephenson? Roberts and all the good guys who had accompanied him during The Watcher's test runs? Sarah? Penny? His friend Andy, and Jet? Why could not he dream of them, instead of the persons who had made his life a living Hell at work?

"**Is that what you think of them, Tim?"** asked a third voice.

This time, McGee did not bother to turn around; he would recognize this voice everywhere but, for the first time of his life, he was not frightened hearing it. Without interrupting his walking, he said:

"Yes, Boss."

"**Is it what you think of me, too?"**

Tim sighed, but he nonetheless answered: "Yes, Boss."

A moment of silence, and then Gibbs' voice whispered: **"I'm sorry, Timmy."**

The young man stopped dead on his tracks. This was the proof his delirium had increased in force: he had imagined Gibbs apologizing to him, and that was an absolute impossibility! He shrugged as best as he could to shake the hallucination off, and then he tried to re-focus his vision on the Cassiopeia constellation before resuming his walking.

"**Tim…"**

"Go away, Gibbs."

"**Timmy…"**

"Don't call me that; you don't have the right…"

"**Please…"**

"Don't bother. You're an illusion like the others, and I can't waste my time with whatever bullshit I'm imagining you're saying. Besides, you're not a good imitation – Gibbs would never, ever apologize, least of all to me."

"**Tim!"**

"Shut up. Go away. You're lying through your teeth. You're not sorry. You're never sorry. You're the infallible Leroy Jethro Gibbs and you're never wrong, especially when you're completely out of your mind!"

"**Tim, please, let me explain…"**

"A sign of weakness, my ass!"

"**McGee, let me talk!"**

"Talk all you want, I won't listen. I've listened to your crap for years and I'm sick of it. You're an awful leader and a terrible teacher. And now you want to apologize? Well, it's too late – General Stephenson has taken me under his wing and he's a way better man than you. So go back to NCIS and make your tough-and-stoic Marine act for the probationers who may be impressed by it. I'm not impressed by you anymore. It's over."

"**Tim…"**

"Go away! I want to see Aimee… My parents, even if they hate me… Penny… Sarah… Oh God, where's Ziva? Ducky, please help me… Jimmy?... I don't want to see you, Gibbs, just go away and leave me alone! You've ignored me for years so don't start pretending that you care."

"**I do care about you, Timmy; and one day… I'll prove it to everyone."**

Tim almost stopped at those words, but the force of habit got the better of him. No, it was just another illusion. Gibbs could not be in the Afghani desert – like his surrogate son or his favorite – and he would never consider the young McGee important enough to care about – not even if Vance threatened to show him the door in case he would not comply. A waste of time, all of it; just a waste of time, and Tim needed to stay concentrated on reaching ISAF. He would survive this ordeal, he had to!

* * *

><p><em>Meanwhile, up in the air…<em>

"Gibbs?"

"Mmm?"

The silver-haired man opened his eyes to see the concerned face of Ziva David hovering over him, and Gibbs realized he had fallen asleep. Not for hours since his mind and eyes were ready for action, but long enough to have dreamed about Tim.

"Are you okay? You were muttoning under your breath."

"_Muttering_, Ziver, and I was dreaming. Guess those hours spent in this cargo plane are finally catching up with me."

"Was it about Tim? I heard you saying his name."

"Yeah. In the dream, he was leaving the bullpen and I was trying to apologize to him, but he wouldn't listen…"

"You can't hardly blame him, now, can you?" asked Ziva with a frown on her face.

"No… Funny thing is, the bullpen was very dark and there were some odd shapes in the background, like high mountains but it doesn't make sense; there are no mountains in DC and Vance won't let us have landscape wallpaper to decorate the bullpen."

"Never mind burdening your mind with strange dreams, Gibbs. They won't help us in finding Tim! I've spoken to the pilot and we're due to land in twenty minutes, so you'd better get ready."

* * *

><p><em>Same time, at ISAF…<em>

ISAF was in a flurry of activity. Since the attack on McGee's convoy, the base had been in lock-up and every man or woman had been requisitioned in finding the culprits responsible for the death of three Marines and the wounding of four others, plus the disappearance of a Lieutenant of the Finance Corps. Security had been tightened on the base and General Stephenson had made it clear that any attempt of skiving duties would be severely sanctioned. The medical staff was under permanent alert, choppers were constantly patrolling the area where the attack had occurred and local informers haunting the streets of Kabul had been discreetly advised that a healthy sum would be paid in exchange of information about the kidnappers of an American soldier.

But in spite of all his manpower, weapons and technology, there was still not have a clue about McGee's location and this situation was driving Stephenson crazy. The General was standing in the courtyard, looking at the men coming and going, ignoring the tiredness that was weighting down on his shoulders; then, his gaze turned upwards and he looked at the stars embellishing the night sky. Stephenson had stopped believing in the legend but, for the first time since his loved ones' death, he hoped to see a shooting star so he could make a wish. However, no sign from the Heavens answered his silent prayers so Stephenson stared at the Cassiopeia constellation instead, desperately wishing McGee was alive and he could see it as well.

_Where are you, son?_

TBC…


	57. An intervention

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- The song _That don't impress me much_ is from the 1997 album _Come On Over_ by Canadian singer Shania Twain (b. 1965).

- To random: I am updating! ;-)

- To AS: thank you for your kind words.

- To Guest: I'm glad you're enjoying the story.

- To RedDragen: Tim's return to ISAF will make quite a ruckus! xD

- To Guestgirl: I hope you'll like the further chapters as well.

- To None: Ziva will encourage Tim to keep going… via the Dark Dove!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 57: An intervention<strong>

_The Afghani desert at dawn..._

Tim fell on the ground for the fourth time in less than an hour, brought down by his injuries and dangerously dehydrated. He had walked all night, his eyes fixed on the Cassiopeia constellation but his will to survive was unraveling like an old carpet by the minute. Even the perspective of being hunted down by revengeful Taliban did not scare him any longer, which was worrisome: if Tim ever lost his survival instinct, he would also lose his courage to get up and walk.

_Beloved…_

Tim's green eyes fluttered open very slowly, as he barely had the courage to move but he had been surprised by hearing the sound of a human voice. Probably another hallucination, like the ones he had previously about his less-than-amiable colleagues at NCIS but this time it was so soft, so gentle…

_Beloved…_

McGee tried to roll on his stomach with the cautious movements of a man three times his age, groaning from the effort. This hallucination was worse than the others; he could have sworn it sounded just like…

_Aimee?_

Green eyes snapped open and Tim, in spite of his exhaustion, looked frantically around but all he could see was sand dunes, mountains, rocks scattered everywhere, the dark sky with a golden hue at the east. He should be looking for shelter instead of searching for an illusion, since the sun would be out soon and, without water, Tim would not be able to stand the heat. He would have thought that the desert would be a bit cooler in late October, making his escape a bit easier but as usual, luck was not on his side – and by a cruel twist of fate, he had to be haunted by the souvenir of his lost love in the last few hours he had left to live.

_Beloved…_

"Oh, Aimee… love you so much…" whispered Tim, his throat hurting like he had swallowed an orange whole and the fruit had remained struck in mid-way. He would have cried if his eyes had not been so damned dry and his features contorted in a painful grimace.

_You have to live, Tim…_

"But…"

_You have to!_

Tim tried to argue, to explain that he did not feel like living without Aimee but his voice box remained paralyzed. He wanted to say he did not deserve to survive this terrible ordeal after Roberts and the others had died because of him. He had failed Stephenson; The Watcher was a goner; he had disappointed everyone. Aimee was dead. So why should he keep going on? What was the purpose in following a constellation after he had done a spectacular mess of his mission? Vance would be furious, fuming in rage behind his desk. Gibbs and the others had been right: Tim had bitten more than he could chew. He had been arrogant, overconfident and a show-off; he had ruined everything. He had never been capable of doing anything right, whatsoever. His father had said this truism about a thousand times and yet, too-proud Timmy had refused to believe it. And in the end, they had been right all along. Tim was a useless geek. He deserved to die!

_NO, YOU DON'T!_

The sudden exclamation made Tim's heart beat faster, chasing away for a moment the intense fatigue plaguing his body.

"Aimee! Where…"

_Please get up, beloved. You must live. You're a good man, the world needs you._

"But I need you! I wanna… be with you," croaked the young man feebly.

_My love, I gave you wings; now fly, as high as you can. You have so many good things to do; people count on you to keep them safe. Get up and walk, the base is close. Live, Tim… Live for me._

"Aimee!" shouted Tim before a bout of coughing made him double over. It took him long minutes before he could regain control of his aching lungs and he thought for certain he was going to suffocate from the dust and the lack of water. This hallucination had been the cruelest thing he had ever endured – the blows administered by '_Boutlir'_ had been caresses in comparison. Aimee, his darling, his pure love! Hearing her voice while knowing she was dead had been heartbreaking and for a long, terrifying moment, Tim considered giving up all hope. It would be so easy to stay prone on the ground, and wait until the sun would kill him. And then, the terrorists would arrive too late and see their hostage had escaped them forever. They would turn back and a pack of wild dogs would feast on his dry corpse and choke on his remains…

At the same moment, something poked him on the ribs. Tim's eyes snapped open, fearing the ghost of the wild dog he had killed was back for revenge, but only silence and wideness surrounded him. The young man then realized it had been the Dark Dove, hidden inside his clothes. Its blade had nicked his torso.

The presence of the weapon, plus the souvenir of its giver, made McGee grit his teeth, chasing away fatalism. No, he could not give up. He had to reach ISAF, regardless of the costs. He had to warn Stephenson and the others about _'Boutlir'_ and his accomplice Miller, hiding at the base. He had to do it for Aimee, Roberts, all the others and to Hell with his injuries! Ziva had endured much worse when she had been captured and tortured for weeks in Somalia, at the mercy of low-life scum who had certainly gotten their jollies from having a female prisoner in their clutches – but she had never said a word about it, showing a courage that her captors could not have dreamt to have. Tim could not surrender to despair or he would not be worthy to be called a friend of Ziva!

_Or Aimee's. Roberts'. Ducky, little Jimmy's. General Stephenson's. All the ones who have showed me kindness, they all count on me and I cannot let them down. Aimee told me to live for her and I will. My testimony will flush out Miller-the-traitor and he'll never see the light of day again. I won't disappoint you, Aimee, sweetheart. My survival will be your revenge._

With one last groan, Tim raised himself on four feet and waited for the dizziness to pass. Then, his shaky legs somehow found enough strength to make him stand and he walked towards the sunrise, Cassiopeia having disappeared in the morning sky.

* * *

><p><em>At NCIS…<em>

"Where's Gibbs?"

Tony raised his eyes from his computer screen and let out a sigh. Sure enough, it was Abby who had asked this question and, sure enough, she was not going to like the answer, considering the furious look on her face.

"In L.A."

"REPEAT THAT?"

"You heard!" grumbled the Senior Agent.

"But what is he doing in California?"

"How should I know?"

"Don't answer my questions with questions, DiNozzo! I have the right to know Gibbs' whereabouts!"

"Says who?"

The Goth woman stared at Tony with an astonished expression on her face, and it would have been comical if his mind had not been reeling for the past 24 hours with what Director Vance had told him. Gibbs and Ziva had left to search for McGee in Afghanistan and this unauthorized mission had to remain a secret, otherwise the Senior Agent could definitively kiss his career goodbye. Not only this situation was giving him a bad taste in the mouth but the worse was the fact that he, Tony DiNozzo, the very definition of professionalism, the quintessence of a federal agent, the uncontested star of NCIS, had not been invited for the ride. In fact, he had been relegated to desk work like, working like a first-year probie because Gibbs had preferred to take Ziva along in this glorious mission of Saving Agent McGee. Tony would not forget this humiliation anytime soon and he was not in the mood to endure another round of a screaming-mad Abby in the bullpen.

"Have you gone crazy, Tony? You should know better than playing this smart-ass game with me! I'm Gibbs' favorite and don't you forget it. Thus, I want to know where he is!"

"I've already told you where he is! In L.A., with Ziva. That's it, that's all, end of story."

"With Ziva? But, why?"

"Look, if you wanna know the 'who', the 'where' and the 'why', you'd better ask Vance for details – but let me warn you right now and then he won't give you more than this. The fact you're Gibbs' favorite don't impress him much, to quote Shania Twain."

"Ask Vance? You've definitively gone mad, Tony! That poisonous Peterson had been true to his word: he has filed up a complaint and Gibbs must defend me or I can very well lose my job!"

"Firstly, Gibbs isn't an attorney. Secondly, considering your past attitude and that whining act of yours at the conference room, he won't be so keen on helping you so you'd probably have to deal with Peterson's complaint on your own. And thirdly, Vance won't do a thing before Gibbs is back in DC so you should use this reprieve to plan your defense."

"What do you mean? Gibbs will always help me. And why would the Director wait until Gibbs is back?"

Tony thought fast in finding an appropriate answer; he could hardly tell Abby that Vance would not take disciplinary actions against her before Gibbs and Ziva found McGee and bring him home safe. He could not tell a word about their Team Leader's personal initiative; otherwise, Abby would have a hysterical fit and Tony would be held responsible by Volcano Vance, whose eruptions had become more and more frequent recently.

"Because Vance knows Gibbs would never forgive him if he ever takes actions against you during his absence. The Director is quite aware of your 'favorite' status since you've been bragging about it for years, loud enough for the whole world to know. So, the only logical conclusion remaining is: he'll have to wait for Gibbs before handing down his verdict. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some work to do..."

"But why is Ziva with Gibbs? And why doesn't Gibbs answer his phone?"

"Vance ordered her to go with him and they're probably not allowed to take calls unrelated to the job, what else? Usually, when the Director of a federal agency gives orders to agents, said agents obey and… Hey, wait a minute!" exclaimed Tony. "What are you thinking, that Gibbs and Ziva have left for a romantic weekend in Disneyland?"

Abby remained silent, but her stiff-as-a-board posture and pouting mouth betrayed her thoughts.

"I can't believe it! This is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard this year!" said Tony, throwing his hands in the air out of sheer frustration.

"What's so ridiculous?" shot Abby back, her voice full of venom. "Ziva likes to flirt; she has been giving you sidelong glances since the first day she has started to work here, she has been openly checking McGee's ass, so I wouldn't be surprised if she tries a seduction act on Gibbs as well."

"Abby, this is nonsense. They're doing a job in L.A. all above board. I've had my dissensions with Ziva, truth is, but I've done thousands of missions with her and she has never made a move. Ziva is highly professional, just like me and…

"Here we go again! Talking about you all the time!"

"Oh, yeah? Well, what have you been doing for the past ten minutes?"

"I really don't like your tone, Mister. Gibbs isn't going to be happy when I tell him you weren't concerned at all about me being a victim of Peterson's pettiness."

Tony had a very, very hard time to not roll his eyes heavenwards. Hearing Abby stating she was a victim was as ludicrous as the idea of Ziva and Gibbs smooching while visiting the Universal Studios theme park in California.

"You should go downstairs and make a list of your accomplishments to present to Vance, instead of staying here wasting your time and mine."

"You've asked for it, Tony! I'll tell Gibbs of your attitude!"

"Oh, just go away."

Abby glared furiously at the weary Senior Agent before turning heels, her platform boots imitating the sound of a charging herd of elephants. Tony shrugged in indifference at the lab rat's anger and then his gaze fell on the furniture surrounding him. Gibbs' desk: empty; Ziva's desk: empty; McGee's desk: empty. Ducky and Jimmy were working at the morgue. Abby had gone back to her vampire's lair. And Tony was lonely, miserable and angry.

What was the point of being a Team Leader in the making, if he had no team?

* * *

><p>Tim fell once more, but this time he nearly shouted out of joy. The hard surface he had impacted with was not sand or stony ground: it was tarmac.<p>

He had found it! He has found the road to Kabul! It was just a matter of time before a patrol vehicle would come and take him straightaway to Kabul and ISAF. He was saved!

Tim would have cried in relief, but his remaining good sense told him crowing over a victory was way too soon. He still did not know how many miles he had to walk before reaching safety and the sun was already high in the sky; he could see the air undulating from the heat coming out of the asphalted road, meaning the temperatures would soon become impossible to endure for a man who had only a few drops of wild dog's blood to drink for the past two days. And there was also the matter of the terrorists who had captured him; Tim had managed to lock them in their own hiding place but what if they had somehow found a way out? An angry terrorist could run very fast, especially after a rebelling prey.

The young man groaned lightly at the terrifying thought of being re-captured. All his efforts in vain… The terrible walk through the desert… Fighting off ghosts… Aimee's gentle pleading for him to carry on… No, he would not give Farhad and his guys the pleasure of snatching him away again. Tim would rather die than let his enemies triumph!

He got on his feet and struggled to maintain his equilibrium, and then he jumped out of fright at the sight of the moving jeep that had appeared on the road like a bolt from the blue, heading straight at him. It was not a Humvee or a patrol vehicle used by the Coalition forces, so who could it be?

_**The terrorists!**_

_**Farhad!**_

_**They've found him!**_

Tim yelped in terror and tried to flee, but his legs buckled beneath him and he fell on the asphalt, cutting his face on the compacted mineral aggregate. He could feel the blood running from his eyebrow and he groaned as an absurd thought crossed his mind: he could not afford to lose any fluids!

The jeep stopped in a screech of tires and then, a pair of boots appeared at a few inches from his face. Tim barely flinched; all his strength was gone and he could not use the Dark Dove to defend himself. His only consolation was that he would be dead soon, depriving the terrorists from their source of income.

The driver roughly turned him on his back with a kick of his boot, causing the checkered _lungee_ to fall out of his head. But Tim nearly stopped breathing when a man's voice asked in perfect English:

"Well, well, well! What are you doing here, butterfly?"

* * *

><p><em>At ISAF…<em>

A knock at the door, and Captain Shadely came in and saluted before asking:

"General Stephenson?"

"What is it, Captain?" asked Stephenson, seated behind his desk and not raising his gaze from the map he was studying.

"Sorry to disturb you, but one of our patrols have captured two strange individuals downtown. Americans, apparently and they were asking questions to the locals about Lieutenant McGee, the circumstances of his kidnapping and who may be behind it."

Alexander Stephenson raised his flint stone's colored-eyes towards Shadely and asked with a steel-like voice:

"Civilian Americans?"

"Yes, Sir, but what's strange is that they were heavily armed, they dressed like Afghani and look like ex-military."

Stephenson felt his blood boiling inside his veins; unknown civilian Americans wearing Afghani costumes, armed and asking questions about his son? Maybe they were accomplices of that bastard Butler, the one who had been selling glass mines to terrorists!

"Bring them here at once! I want to question them!" roared the General.

"Actually, Sir, they want to talk to you."

"What?"

"That's right, Sir. The man has been quite insistent on talking to _'that incapable who has lost McGee'_, and the woman is having quite a hard time in trying to keep him calm."

"_A woman?!"_

"Yes, Sir; she's kinda slim but she punched Private Hogan on the nose when he tried to grab her!"

"And the man, how does he look like?"

"In his fifties, white-haired, behaving like he owns the place, Sir."

Stephenson's jaw clenched at the description and cursed Leon Vance to Hell.

Gibbs was in Kabul.

* * *

><p>A splash of water on his bruised face made Tim open his eyes. He had been propped on a sitting position, his back supported by one of the jeep's tires and sheltered from the sun, making him realize he must have lost consciousness for a few minutes or so. Water was dripped inside his mouth and it felt like heaven to his parched throat and his battered body. He saw the blurred contours of a man hovering over him, with a kind of wide cloak draped over his shoulders and holding some sort of flask to his lips. After a while, Tim's vision cleared and he gasped in surprise as he recognized the features of his saviour: it was Trent Kort!<p>

"K… Ko… rt?"

"Take it easy, butterfly. Water is precious in this country and you should keep it inside your throat, instead of sputtering it all over your face by asking questions."

The rogue CIA Agent grabbed the discarded _lungee _and soaked it with water before dabbing it on Tim's face. The cut eyebrow was roughly cleaned but the young man did not react to the pain, too tired and too dehydrated to feel anything.

"Damn, kid, what have they done to you?"

"K.. Kort…"

"Yeah, butterfly, it's me. Long time no see, eh?"

"How…"

"Oh, you know me, always hanging around in places no one in his or her right state of mind would go. I've heard about your kidnapping through the Kabul grapevine so I decided to go info-hunting and then, I stumbled upon a nasty piece of work named Zalmai_. _He seemed very anxious on bringing a video camera to a remote part of the mountains and I doubted he would use it for an article ordered by the National Geographic Society."

The CIA man let a few drops of water to fall out of the flask and into Tim's mouth. When the young man feebly tried to drink some more of the life-giving liquid, Kort stopped him by removing the flask.

"Don't drink too fast, kid, it'll make you sick. You cannot puke; in your state, it'd kill you. Now, as I was saying, that Zalmai guy was pretty crossed about a tempest preventing him from going to the mountains with a camera, and his eagerness to leave Kabul caught my curiosity. So I 'interrogated' him; it took a few days before he confessed being in league with your kidnappers. The camera was to record the ransom demands of his tribe leader – talk about a stroke of luck meeting him! But for all his pretentions, Zalmai was not the tough guy he pretended to be. He broke down before I could ask him the whereabouts of his leader, some money-hungry, would-be rebel named Farhad."

Tim felt a shudder crawling up his spine in spite of the heat; he could not dare to imagine what Kort's interrogation techniques consisted of. He could understand why Gibbs had always forbidden him to rub shoulders with the unruly CIA Agent.

"So I've been patrolling the area, hoping to find another one of Farhad's acolytes on the way to ask some more questions but so far, no luck and then, lo and behold, there you are! How in the world have you managed to escape from your captors?"

Tim was too weak to answer, but he managed to give Kort a little smile. Even though the man was dangerous like a scorpio and as slippery as a bar of soap in a shower, McGee could somehow feel he had nothing to fear from him at the moment.

"Okay, keep your secrets and I'll keep mines – but you look like you've been through the wringer, kid! No, correction, you look like you've been pinned to a piece of cork many times before you've managed to flee. How did you do it, you fluttered the powder off your wings right into the collector's eyes? Quite a feat from a butterfly but still water runs deep, as the saying goes. Here, take a few drops more and then we'll head for Kabul. I'll drop you on the sidewalk in front of ISAF's gates; I cannot accompany you there, for reasons you can imagine."

"… Ank… you…"

"You're welcome, butterfly. Just stay alive until I deliver you at ISAF, okay? There's a white-haired hornet in DC who would skin me alive if you'd be brought back to DC in a body bag and I'm not found of being stung. Are you done drinking? Okay, here goes!"

Kort slung one arm around Tim's shoulders, the other under the young man's knees and lifted him off the ground, bridal-style. In other circumstances Kort would have grunted from the weight of a wounded man in his arms but Tim was lean and light like an autumn leaf from his capture and his long stay in the desert. Carrying him was as easy as with a child and the CIA agent had no troubles depositing him on the jeep's passenger seat. Then he took off his cloak and draped it over Tim's prone form: it would hide the wounds from prying eyes once they would drive through the busy streets of Kabul. Kort also picked up the soaked _lungee_ from the ground and wrapped it quickly over the young man's head. The kid did not need to add sunstroke to his long list of health problems.

Kort climbed in the jeep and fired up the engine. The motor immediately roared back to life and Kort drove in the direction of Kabul, glancing from time to time to his semi-conscious passenger. McGee indeed looked as frail as a butterfly and the rogue wondered if the young man would stay alive long enough for them to reach ISAF.

TBC….


	58. A dissension

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

**To my dear readers and reviewers:** I've been writing this story for more than a year, at a pace of a chapter per week and I am amazed by the amount of feedbacks and messages you kindly send each time a new episode is posted. It is wonderful to know you are enjoying this story so much. The concern you show towards the characters confirms that my prose is actually readable and that you are impatient to know what's going to happen next.

I am forced to put this story on "hold" until mid-September, because of summer vacation AND a dreaded term paper I have to write for my MA course.

**Rest assured **_**The Lost Son**_** won't be abandoned**. There are still more chapters to come with action, drama, sentiments and telling-offs. Sounds nice? xD

I wish you the best time ever in July and August: enjoy the sunshine, relax, have fun with friends, eat ice cream and read a lot of fanfics.

_**HAPPY SUMMER!**_

- To random 23: your wish is my command! xD

- To Guest: you are most welcome!

- To Sal: sorry about the cliffhangers, but I'm sooooo addicted to them!

- To earthdragon: you're right, Tim is not out of the woods (or the desert) yet. More surprises to come!

- To RedDragen: the confrontation between Gibbs and Stephenson will happen in this chapter.

- To None: Kort does have a hidden agenda, otherwise he wouldn't be Kort! ;-)

- To A Girl: Tony may 'see the light' but I'm not sure about Abby yet.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 58: A dissension<strong>

_At ISAF..._

Through a one-way mirror, General Alexander Stephenson looked at the man and the woman seated in the interrogation room. Captain Shadely had been accurate in his description: the man was indeed Leroy Jethro Gibbs and he had not changed one bit since the Gulf War – more white hair on his head, but apart from this detail he was still the haughty and know-it-all fellow he had met in the past. Gibbs was currently glaring at the MPs guarding them and, considering the sweat running down their foreheads, the lads were not feeling comfortable _**at-all**_, as if they feared the prisoner would tear them into shreds in a snap so there was nothing new here.

The woman, however, was a mystery: elfin-looking, dark-haired and cute, the kind of female that could attract suitors like flies to honey. However, there was a dangerous vibration coming from her – a feeling enhanced by her observant dark eyes and her disconcerting calm demeanor. One would have thought being caught by Marines and held in a windowless room being a scary situation but the woman did not seemed worried. In fact, she was seemed more concerned by her companion's volatile mood than by their plight. That woman had nerves of steel!

"Have they said anything?"

"Not a word since they've been brought to the interrogation room, Sir. They seem resolute in talking only in your presence."

Stephenson snarled in anger; Gibbs truly had not changed since the Gulf War. The man had been the most pig-headed Marine he had ever seen and years had not mellowed him one bit. Unfortunately for him, Stephenson was too worried about McGee's whereabouts to play mind games with a capricious ex-Gunnery Sergeant. Gibbs would tell him the reasons of his presence in Afghanistan with an unknown female at once before being sent back to the States, his posterior adorned with a print of the General's boot – something Stephenson had wanted to do for a very long time, and even more after having intercepted Gibbs' letter of apology and read its revolting contents. The General's grey eyes hardened at the thought of wasting precious time with that white-haired idiot, whose intransigence had made Tim's life a living Hell in DC! Stephenson made a mental note to give Vance a piece of his mind about being unable to keep his own people under control. The NCIS Director may be known for his explosive temper but it would not be enough to protect him from a General's wrath, especially when his son was missing in action.

Snarling again, Stephenson entered the interrogation room with Captain Shadely at his heels. The MPs immediately stood to attention in a movement of a robotic-like precision; the General looked daggers at the guilty couple and growled:

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't have the pair of you shot at dawn for espionage."

Gibbs got on his feet, gave his best glare at Stephenson, and retorted:

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't rip your head off your shoulders right now."

The MPs made a move towards their guns, so did Captain Shadely but Stephenson ignored them. Locking his flint stones on Gibbs' sapphires, he growled back:

"Don't play smart-mouth with me, Gibbs. You're still the same insufferable SOB who wrongly thinks everyone should grovel at your feet because of your so-called superiority but I can recognize a bully when I see one."

"And I can recognize an incapable when I see one," replied the Team Leader. "It's entirely **your** fault if McGee's missing. Whatever possessed you to send him in the desert, anyway?"

"I don't have to answer you, Gibbs! McGee knows his duty and so do I."

"His duty? You were supposed to keep him in ISAF at all times, for God's sakes! Not a hair on his head was supposed to fall as long as he was under your supervision and then, out of the blue, you send him in the desert with a handful of grunts escorting him. No wonders he got captured by terrorists!"

"_**My men**_ were not grunts," said Stephenson, grinding his teeth furiously under the insult. Captain Shadely seemed very close to come to blows, as well: Sergeant Raff had been one of his men. "They were seasoned veterans who had patrolled the area from end to end and they knew every rock, every bush and mountain of this country. For your information, four of them died in the ambush, including a field doctor so don't you dare telling me they were incompetent or I won't wait for dawn to shoot you."

"I'd like to see you try!"

"You think I won't, Gibbs? Wrong!"

"GUYS!" exclaimed the dark-haired woman, interrupting the two Alpha males. "Don't you think we should work together in finding McGee instead of staring stunningly at each other?"

The idiomatic mistake made Stephenson turn slightly his head towards the lovely interrupter. Shadely noted from the corner of his eye that one of the MPs was stifling a laugh.

"And you are?"

"Special Agent Ziva David, NCIS, former Mossad officer – and I am very concerned about McGee, Sir."

Gibbs inwardly groaned: why on Earth did Ziva mentioned her former employers? It could only add grist to Stephenson's mill about them being spies! But the General had a strange smile: Mossad, eh? That explained the aura of dangerousness emanating from the woman. Private Hogan's nose never stood a chance but the man could count himself lucky she had not punched something else… situated in the lower parts of a man's body.

"And why are you so concerned about McGee, Agent David?"

"He's my friend, General."

"_And I'm ready to bet you're the one who gave him that mean-looking knife as a departing present,"_ thought Stephenson. _"I wouldn't have imagined Tim actually had an ally within NCIS, considering the amount of crap he had to deal with every day from working with Gibbs and the fellows he mentioned in his letter, the ones he called Tony, Kate and Abby."_

"The fact that Gibbs is ex-Marine and you ex-Mossad doesn't explain the reasons of your unauthorized presence in Kabul, wandering around at the risk of being kidnapped too by Taliban sympathizers. I have enough on my plate trying to find McGee to worry about stupid civilians who have nothing to do here in the first place!"

"Please, Sir, we came in Afghanistan to help you with the inquiries. Agent Gibbs has military experience with delicate missions and I," said Ziva, hoping no one would notice her nervous gulp, "have personal experience with kidnappers. I also know how to 'persuade' the most uncooperative prisoners to provide you with information. Our input can be very beneficial to McGee, as time is running out. Soon his kidnappers will send their demands and since the US government doesn't negotiate with terrorists… they'll soon realize keeping Tim alive is not worth the trouble."

Stephenson frowned at those words. As painful as it was to admit it, Agent David was right: she certainly have dealt with kidnappers while working at Mossad and Gibbs knew the drill about military life. However, her presence was a headache – and Gibbs' a pain in his backside. The General was revolted at the thought of having to explain to his officers why two NCIS agents were at ISAF while everyone was on the warpath to find McGee, a pen-pusher supposedly working in Logistic Supports. Every second counted, for God's sake!

"Don't you think we should get a move on, instead of talking our heads off like idiots?" asked Gibbs, as if he had been reading Stephenson's mind.

"Save the lip, Gibbs – you're only unwanted guests on **my** base, and I can make you leave the country before you can even say 'veteran'."

"Not for me, you won't! Besides, with the slowpokes you have at **your** base, it'd probably take months before they'd execute your orders."

"Gibbs!" hissed Ziva, furious that her efforts had been reduced to nothing.

"General, if you resent our presence here, then you just have to let us go and be done with it. We'd be far more efficient out in the field than locked up here, talking with dummies. For your information, I'm not having the time of my life, either! And I don't like working with incapables and that's what you lot are, a bunch of incapables who hadn't been able to protect McGee. The kid was doomed like a lamb in a slaughterhouse from the very minute he had been under your command!"

"Look who's talking," snarled the General back. "You have quite a nerve saying I haven't done the maximum to protect the kid, considering you've put him in danger since the first day he had agreed to work for you. And, as if it wasn't enough, he was submitted to permanent hazing from his so-called colleagues, with your benediction! Oh yes, I know all about it and the most amazing part is that McGee hasn't resigned from NCIS years ago. You treated him like the dirt you'd have scrapped from under your combat boots because it'd make you a great leader, but the truth is it made you a great fool!"

"**WHO TOLD YOU THIS CRAP?"** roared the silver-haired man.

"You did."

A stunned silence followed Stephenson's words, and then Gibbs asked with a dangerous voice:

"What did you say?"

"You told me everything about what happened in NCIS, Gibbs – you wrote McGee a letter a few weeks ago, remember? Well, I've read it."

"YOU DID WHAT? IT WAS PERSONAL!"

"It's _**my**_ base," reminded Stephenson, emphasizing on the possessive noun in an icy tone. "And I think I am in authority to control every piece of information coming in and out ISAF."

"And what did McGee say about you reading his mail?"

"He said nothing; I didn't give him your letter. The kid was working hard on a project and he didn't need worthless distractions, such as his former boss writing to him!"

Gibbs seemed to be ready to jump and wrap his hands around Stephenson's neck, but an angry Ziva banged her fist on the table, causing the wood to crack and the men to jump.

"**ENOUGH!** You both stop this stupid locking of thorns or I won't answer for my actions, you be warned!"

"It's _'locking of horns'_, Ziver."

"Yes, very appropriate: a couple of mindless beasts banging their heads against one another! What are you, buffalos? I can understand you being worried about McGee but fighting between us won't help him and _we're wasting time_!"

Captain Shadely's face had turned a little pale at the sight of the damage Ziva had done to the table. If the woman could do this simply by banging her first, then he did not want to know what she could do with a gun or a knife.

"You're playing a hard game, Agent David," said Stephenson, while Gibbs was reluctantly sitting back on his chair.

"I'm not playing anything, Sir; only McGee matters. I won't leave this country without him and I will destroy his kidnappers one after another, you have my word."

"And how do you think you will find McGee, Agent David? By asking discreet questions to the local population? The rules of undercover jobs are completely different from the ones in DC; there's no back-up here and very little police."

"I've been undercover in war-torn countries before, Sir."

"Yes, and you haven't been lucky in this field lately… I know about Somalia, Agent David."

Ziva's beautiful face turned into granite, and even Gibbs had a hard time to suppress a shiver from running down his spine. His Junior Field Agent had adamantly refused to talk about what had happened to her while she had been in Saleem's clutches, not even to the amiable Ducky. Ziva had kept the sordid details to the NCIS psychologist she had been forced to talk to during weekly sessions that had lasted for months, until Vance would receive confirmation that Agent David was fit for duty. Gibbs had not been able to get any information from Dr. Norris – not even after having given one of his trademark glares to the man – and Ziva had made it clear she would resign from NCIS if one of her teammates would ever ask the slightest question about her captivity.

Not wanting to lose one of his 'kids', Gibbs had forbidden Abby to try prying information about Somalia from the ex-Mossad, but also from Tony and Tim. The Lab Rat had protested, of course, proclaiming she only wanted to help Ziva but for once her silver-haired fox had not relented to her whims. He was not worried about a possible breach of trust, thought: McGee was the soul of discretion and DiNozzo knew better than to disobey a direct order from his mentor. In the end, Abby had stated it would be a matter of time until Ziva would come up to her out and ask for her professional opinion but so far, she was still waiting for that moment to come.

"Somalia has nothing to do with my skills, General," replied Ziva with enough ice in her voice to cause frostbite. "I have been betrayed by my father; otherwise, the enemy would never have caught me. Since my father's gone, I don't have to fear his backstabbing anymore. Now, as I was saying, we should combine our expertise and find McGee before it's too late so I urge you in the strongest terms possible to let us participate in the search with your men."

Shadely silently hoped the disappearance of Agent David's father had not been due to an explanation between relatives. Considering the daughter's punch, it would have ended in an awful mess!

Stephenson clenched his jaw, but once more he had to admit the dark-haired woman was right. Setting the couple loose in the streets of Kabul could only cause mayhem, especially with Gibbs asking questions with the discretion of a sneezing elephant inside a china shop. On the other hand, there would be turmoil if he decided to send them back to the States: neither Agents Gibbs nor David were of the kind to leave quietly and he did not want to see more of his men at the hospital. Between two evils, one must choose the lesser and Stephenson quickly made up his mind; he did not want to spend another minute in this room when he could be searching for his son in his office!

"Fine. You can participate in the inquest but only because I don't have time to send you back to Vance with my regards. And keep in mind that the slightest insubordination will cost you both a long stay in jail, am I clear, Gibbs? Captain Shadely!"

"Sir?"

"Give Agents Gibbs and David an update about the situation and see if they can truly provide valuable information in our investigations. If not, keep them locked up someplace, preferably as far from me as possible. I'll be in my office!"

"Aye-aye, Sir!"

The door of the interrogation room slammed loudly behind the retreating General, and Jake Shadely inwardly groaned. Why did he always have the toughest jobs?

* * *

><p><em>On the road to Kabul…<em>

Trent Kort was driving the jeep at all speed, determined in getting out of the desert as soon as possible. McGee had managed to escape but doubtless his captors would not renounce to their prey easily; in fact, they could consider the kid's breaking loose from prison as a personal affront that could only be avenged with blood. Before Zalmai had breathed his last, he had confessed his hero Farhad had captured an American lord and this masterstroke would bring money and fame to their cause. Kort had not been surprised by this piece of information: grabbing a rich person was the easiest way for terrorists to fill their coffers after their funds had been cleaned out by the conjugated actions of Secret Services.

However, the mention 'American lord' had made him frown. No Yankee millionaire would be allowed to step foot in Afghanistan and US soldiers were not renowned from being stinking rich. And then, he had remembered reading a file about Team Gibbs, with a memo mentioning Tim McGee being the son of an Admiral and everything clicked into place: the butterfly had been spotted. Some low-life scum had learned about McGee's parentage and sold this info to the highest bidder, and then Farhad and his clique had netted their prey before dragging it to the mountains. Zalmai had been put in charge of bringing a video camera to record the ransom demand but a sky-breaking storm had delayed his departure long enough for Kort to interrogate him – talk about a stroke of luck – and then he had found McGee alive and free in the desert – Lady Luck had smiled upon him, for sure. Kort would have considerable leverage over Leroy Jethro Gibbs in the future, and his hands had barely gotten dirty!

Kort glanced at his passenger, and made a grimace: Lady Luck may have been on his side but she was currently slipping through his fingers. McGee was unconscious, way too thin and his sunburned skin could not hide his state of extreme frailty. He looked like one small bump on the road could provoke his death and the CIA rogue feared the kid would be too weak to survive the road trip to Kabul.

He reached out and shook Tim by the shoulder:

"Hey! You still with me, butterfly?"

"Mmm…"

Barely a groan, but it was better than nothing. Kort regretted he could not have set McGee more comfortable inside the jeep but there was not enough space or time. The thought of Taliban at their heels was a good incentive to slam on the gas pedal and speed down the road, but Kort also feared McGee would succumb to his wounds before reaching the gates of ISAF. Gibbs' wrath after learning about his agent's demise would be Earth-shattering, to say the least, but Kort was not worried about this. What bothered him was the idea that all his efforts had been in vain to save the kid; he would never say it out loud but he liked McGee, as much as a roguish, unpredictable and only concerned about his own interests CIA agent could appreciate someone in his life. There was no love lost between Kort and Gibbs and he did not hold his teammates in the highest consideration: DiNozzo, an annoying cockroach; David, a damselfly too dangerous for his tastes; Sciuto, a wasp high on caffeine; Dr. Mallard, a mummified beetle; his assistant Palmer, a gnat. Only McGee was worthy of interest with his brilliance and incredible good heart, unaltered even having worked for a government's agency for years – too bad the kid was infuriatingly loyal to Gibbs, otherwise Kort would have recruited him on the spot!

"Aimee…" whispered Tim.

"Eh? What was that, butterfly?"

"Aimee… No… Live for me…"

Kort shook his head; the kid was delirious, meaning his condition was worsening. They had to reach Kabul as soon as possible and the CIA man vowed to stop for nothing, not even for a flock of sheep crossing the road or for US Marines patrolling the area and asking time-wasting questions.

"C'mon, kid, stay alive. Gibbs will have my hide if you die and I'm kinda attached to it so I'd like to keep it safe for a while, okay? I told you I'd get you out of this mess; don't make me a bigger liar than I already am."

"G… Gib… bs…"

"Yeah, the one and only. I'm ready to bet ten-to-one that silver hornet has jumped in a plane to fetch you out and the ISAF bigwig – Stephenson, if my memory serves well – won't be too happy about this situation but who would dare to contradict an ex-Gunnery Sergeant, eh? Considering my own troubled relationship with the military, I hope you won't mind if I drop you in front of the ISAF gates and get out of Dodge before the Marines realize your savior is yours truly. Gibbs isn't the only one who knows how to irritate the Hell out of people!"

"No… No… go 'way, Abby…"

"Sciuto? Honestly, kid, I never understood what you found so attractive in the Goth wasp. She might look funny for people under 18, but that babying act of hers makes me feel like to puke. No wonders Gibbs fell for it; he's so dumb, it's sickening!"

"W… Wa… Watch… Er…"

"Hey, save your strength, butterfly and don't worry, I'm watching the road. So far, there's no traffic so we will make it to ISAF in good time."

A minor bump on the road suddenly jolted the vehicle, causing Tim's head to rest on Kort's right shoulder. Instinctively, Kort reached out and wrapped his arm around McGee's back, securing the young man against him to prevent any worsening of his injuries. Tim sighed and lost consciousness again, leaning against the CIA rogue and completely relaxed, as if he silently trusted him – of all people! – to take him to safety.

Kort kept his foot on the gas pedal and a stony expression on his face, but inwardly he was completely floored by McGee's faith in him. The kid must have heard thousands of horror stories about the turbulent agent, especially after that small incident involving DiNozzo's car and yet, he was willing to trust him and it was not because Trent Kort was the only person available for the moment. Gibbs would never have accepted a ride home from the CIA man and vice versa, but McGee was made of a different metal: with more intelligence and less pride, the kid was able to worm his way into other people's hearts, including the ones who had forgotten they had owned one. Kort got surprised by the wave of protectiveness he was feeling and his determination in saving McGee increased by a hundred percent in less than a few seconds. The sun will soon reach its zenith, meaning the temperatures would become unbearable and his passenger would not survive another ordeal.

The jeep's motor roared like an enraged dragon and the vehicle headed towards Kabul, transporting a wounded young man who had fainted in the arms of a killer.

TBC…


	59. A simulation

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- Hi, I'm back! The dissertation has been sent, I'm F-R-E-E! Of course, there's still the tiny matter of having to wait until the paper is graded, meaning I will bite at my fingernails for weeks… In the meantime, I can write fan fiction! ;o)

- A huge_** THANK YOU **_to all my readers and reviewers for their patience, it was marvelous to read your messages during the summer. I regret not having enough time to answer individually, but rest assured your support was greatly appreciated – especially when sweating blood over that dreaded paper!

- This new chapter is a bit shorter but my brains have turned into melted cheese from the pressure of writing the dissertation… Hopefully, they will be back into their normal shape pretty soon :-P

- The phrase "_Don't shoot the messenger_" was expressed in the play _Henry IV _(1596 – 1599) by William Shakespeare (1564 – 1616).

- The quote _"Sweet is revenge, especially for women"_ is from George Gordon Byron, 6th Baron Byron (1788 – 1824).

- Gibbs' rule no. 6, "Never apologize, it's a sign of weakness" is in fact a quote from the John Wayne movie _She wore a yellow ribbon_ (1949).

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 59: A simulation<strong>

_Near the ISAF base..._

"Kid? Hey, McGee?"

"Mmm…"

"Wakey-wakey, butterfly. You're home."

Heavy eyelids fluttered open and Tim McGee groaned from the harsh light coming from the blazing midday sun. He tried to raise his hand to protect his eyes but both his arms were held in an iron grip, by someone who was shaking him awake unceremoniously. Panic gripped at his heart as he thought for a second that Farhad and his goons had escaped from their rocky prison and had somehow found him again, crushing his hopes to reach ISAF. But the shot of adrenaline gave Tim's brains a much-needed boost of energy, clearing his mind from the haze of unconsciousness: there was only one person in the world who has ever called him 'butterfly' and this person was…

"K-Kort?"

"Welcome back to the land of the living, kid. You've had me worried for a while!" growled the CIA agent. He let go of one arm to seize the discarded flask and wasted no time pouring water all over Tim's face and neck, efficiently reviving the young man.

They have managed to drive all the way from the desert to ISAF's neighborhood via the busy streets of Kabul without encountering any trouble – a few glares from Kort had discouraged potential onlookers to ask indiscreet questions, and it had also scared away very young clingy street vendors desperate to sell their junk for a few coins – but Tim was not out of the woods yet. There was still a chance one of Farhad's men could be lurking about and the reappearance of an escaped hostage could cause quite a ruckus through the Taliban's network. An overzealous jackal could try to grab McGee and drag him back to Farhad's lair, ruining Kort's plans to bring the kid back and the rogue simply _**hated**_ when someone tried to thwart his schemes. It usually ended up with a lot of people meeting a messy end…

Kort had stopped his jeep at about six hundred yards from the ISAF base, but unfortunately he could not come any further. There was some bad blood between him and the US Marines Corp. (details were personal) and, even though he was bringing back McGee, Kort did not trust the General in charge to commend him for his heroic actions. The CIA's wild card had learned a long time ago not to rely on human gratitude and saving the butterfly's life would not be enough to erase that embarrassing matter in Kuwait, years ago, or that bone of contention in the Canaries. Hence, for the preservation of his skin, Kort had to remain at a safe distance from ISAF but what about the kid? Would he have enough strength to reach the gates?

One glance at his passenger made the CIA rogue frown: McGee seemed ready to give up the ghost any minute. His sunburned skin could not hide the shadows under his eyes; he had lost too much weight too quickly, he was an emotional mess and the droplets of sweat running from his brow were a testimony of a fever ragging inside his body. The water had given him a bit of strength back but Kort knew it would not be enough for the kid to walk – unfortunately, there were no other options available.

"Sorry, butterfly. It looks like you'll have to fly your way to ISAF," said Kort with a half-sigh.

He took away the checkered _lungee_ Tim had been wearing on his head, and then opened wide the dirty shirt Tim had 'borrowed' from Massoud to show the dog tags shining against tanned skin. McGee had lost his uniform during his capture and the last thing he needed was some trigger-happy guard on duty to shoot at him on sight, mislead by the Afghan attire. It would be pretty ironical for the kid to be shot by a Marine when just reaching ISAF, but somehow Kort doubted this kind of humor would be appreciated!

"W-What?" asked Tim while his stomach was struggling with the little water he had just swallowed, as if the organ had forgotten what to do with this liquid.

"I cannot come closer to the base, otherwise the guards on duty would want to ask nosy questions about who I am and what I am doing in Afghanistan and how did I managed to find you, and I'm not really in the mood to endure an interrogation in a windowless room with a barking-mad officer for sole company. This is where our paths diverge, kid: you walk towards the light, I remain in the shadows and all will be well in the world, okay?"

Tim sighed; he felt as weak as a newborn but he knew it was useless to argue. The CIA man had saved him from an awful death in the desert and the young man would be eternally grateful for this but Kort would not compromise his own safety out of the goodness of his heart, just to drop Tim on ISAF's front sidewalk. Trent Kort was constantly involved in terrifying dark schemes and Tony's worst horror movies looked like a walk in the park in comparison, so it was no wonder the rogue placed his self-preservation above anything else. However, Tim could not leave without telling Kort one last thing:

"Kort…"

"Yes?"

"T-Thank you… for ev'rything… You saved my life… W-Won't forget t-this…"

Ice-blue eyes locked into emeralds, and then Kort answered with a twisted smirk on his face:

"I know you'll return the favor, kid; you're too damn honorable to do otherwise. Now off you go, and send my regards to General Stephenson!"

Tim took a deep breath, and then he willed his trembling legs to move and step outside of the jeep. He got on his feet at the cost of an enormous effort, trying to calm down the wild beatings of his heart while a bout of vertigo almost prompted him to collapse in the street, but one name flashed inside his mind, giving Tim the strength to overcome his fatigue.

_Aimee._

He could reach ISAF's gates; he could do it! He would walk the distance separating him from safety and he would see General Stephenson at once. Then, he would tell him about 'Boutlir' and his accomplice, Miller, who was probably hiding inside the base like a rat gone to ground. But the foul-mouthed, disgusting traitor was living on borrowed time; Tim had 'Boutlir' cell phone with Miller's number recorded on the SIM card and, with his testimony, Miller would not stand a chance to get away with it. He would pay for what he did to Aimee! Not to forget Sergeant Raff, Spikerman, Fredericks, Winter, Emerson – God, even that kind-hearted Corporal Roberts, all good mean who had fought to the death to protect him. And nothing, not even exhaustion, would stop Tim from getting justice for his friends!

With a soft noise that was half-growl, half-groan, Tim McGee started to walk in the direction of ISAF's gates, his movements sluggish but his head held up high.

Kort, who was still seated behind the Jeep's wheel, nodded in silent approbation. _Gutsy kid…_

* * *

><p><em>Meanwhile, at NCIS…<em>

Seated on a lab's stool, Abby was seething with rage from her earlier conversation with Tony. She would never have imagined he would have the nerve to order her to go away and she felt outraged, humiliated and furious – did he think she was an obedient puppy _à la _McGee? If that were the case, then the Senior Agent would have a rude awakening! Abby had never obeyed orders a day in her life and Tony would remember the hard way that no one messed with her.

As soon as Gibbs would be back at NCIS, Abby would jump right into his arms and cry on his shoulder – that kind of demonstration never failed to get the Team Leader's attention. Then she would ask Gibbs to A) punish Tony for his insolence, surrogate son or not and B) tell Rick Peterson off about his complaint against her. She knew her Gibbs: the man was uncontrollable whenever something or someone threatened her and the very idea of his adopted daughter losing her job was like showing a red flag to a raging bull. He would waste no time wanting to have a private 'conversation' with Peterson in the elevator… the kind that involved laser-like glares and physical persuasion. Once Gibbs would be done, Peterson would crawl out of the cabin on all fours with his tail between his legs, before disappearing inside the tiniest hole in the wall and never getting out again. Sweet was revenge, especially for women!

Abby started to snicker at the thought of Peterson behaving like a kicked dog, but then the shadow of a doubt invaded her mind. _What if Gibbs would refuse to defend her?_

No, no, that was impossible! She should not work herself in a terror with silly ideas. Gibbs would come to her rescue, like he had always done it in the past.

_Really? After he had expelled her from the conference room, in front of everyone?_

But that did not count! Gibbs had been upset because of the bad news from Afghanistan. Once again, McGee had proven to be a complete flop for undercover jobs so it was up to his team to fix his goofs – but the matter was complicated by the distance. Afghanistan was thousands of miles away and a war zone, which implied a lot of overtime work. Abby had voiced everyone's opinion out loud, in the lines of _'This mess would never have happened if McGee had stayed behind his computer where he belonged, and leave overseas missions to real professionals'_ and Gibbs, already exasperated by the situation, had 'shoot the messenger' by kicking Abby out of the conference room but deep down, he knew she had been telling the truth. He was certainly filled with remorse for his actions by now and only this sudden mission to L.A. had prevented her silver-haired fox to apologize to her, with a bouquet of black roses in one hand and a couple of tickets for the Apocalypse Horsemen's concert in the other.

_L.A…._

The Lab Rat made a grimace at the recollection of the Californian city. Gibbs was there with Ziva, and it did not please Abby at all. The Israeli woman was a seductress to the core and, whereas Abby had not minded Ziva flirting with Tony, she drew the line when it came to Tim and Gibbs. She needed Tim as her fall guy /unofficial lender/chauffeur/repairman/occasional lover/personal slave and Gibbs… Well, he was _**hers**_, obviously. Not in the sexual way, of course, but Abby needed the man to be focused on her happiness and well-being 24/7, something that could not be possible if a woman got on the way. But whenever a female agent had been interested in the Team Leader, Abby had made it clear that he was out of reach – and the ones stubborn enough to try their luck had walked away in defeat, since Gibbs recoiled at the very idea of a committed relationship. No wonders here, with a dead spouse and three ex-wives!

Abby had been certain Gibbs would never be interested in a woman again and so, he would have remained her overprotective adopted father for the rest of his life. Oh sure, there had been a few times Abby had thought her status of 'favorite' had been imperiled, like when Jenny Sheppard had tried to re-kindling her Parisian affair with Gibbs. But the Team Leader had made it clear what happened in Paris would stay in Paris and the famous rule no. 12,_ 'Never date a co-worker'_, also applied to him. Besides, Jenny's title as Director of NCIS was a major obstacle to a romance since Gibbs was highly respectful of the Marines' Fraternization Policy – even if he had quit the Corps years ago. Abby had secretly enjoyed Jenny's failure: she had never forgiven the woman for having wanted to put down Jethro so it was rightful payback!

But Ziva… That was another matter. Ziva was as lovely as she was lethal, and what was worse, she was not impressed by Abby's status. In fact, she had been openly flirting since she had stepped foot at NCIS. Tony had fallen into the trap at once, of course; the man would sell his soul to the Devil for a date and it was so predictably boring! McGee had been another story, though: Abby had been furious learning about Ziva appreciating Tim's finely-shaped ass and she had been very close to go to the bullpen and tell the ex-Mossad to keep her comments to herself. Only Ziva's involvement with Ray had calmed down the Lab Rat, but Abby had never forgotten McGee's early fascination for the woman who had replaced the late Kate Todd – and she had made Tim pay dearly for his misplaced admiration, from phone calls in the middle of the night to humiliations in bed.

But for the moment being, Ziva was alone with Gibbs with L.A. Who could know what was happening there? Tony had dismissed the idea of Gibbs and the ex-Mossad officer being romantically involved but then again, the Senior Agent was not noted for his remarkable perceptivity. And if Ziva was indeed spinning her web around Gibbs… not only Abby would be green of jealousy but she could also be in danger: the silver-haired man, too distracted by Ziva, would have less time to give to the Lab Rat. And that no-good Peterson would win!

Abby jumped on her feet in a flash, and the movement made the stool to fall on the tiled floor with a loud metallic sound. No, that was impossible! Gibbs could not abandon her to the vultures! She was in great peril; she could lose her job at NCIS and then, what would happen to her? Vance would refuse to write a letter of references and Abby would have no other choice than to apply for a position as a lab technician in a lowly high school or in a factory making cheap cosmetics. Was it a future for a woman of her abilities?

_No, no and no! She needed Gibbs and she needed him __**now**__! To Hell with this mission in L.A.! There must be someone in this building who knows how to reach Gibbs in California!_

_But who?_

_Tony? Ha, fat chance! The guy was so dense he couldn't be trusted with the guardianship of a whelk stall, let alone the whereabouts of NCIS Agents. _

_Vance? Yes, for sure, but getting information from the Director was as hard as extracting blood from a stone. _

_Pamela, Vance's secretary? Well, she must know which skeleton is hiding in which closet, but she was infuriately loyal to Vance and, what's worse, to McGee._

_Then, who?_

Suddenly, Abby jumped out of joy: Ducky! Of course, the elderly M.E. must know where Gibbs was, and how to reach him. She should have thought of it _way_ earlier!

Her smile froze on her lips as Abby remembered the last time Ducky had tried to reason with her, and how she had roughly shoved him aside. Jimmy the Gremlin had made a scandal about it afterwards in the bullpen and she had received a lecture from Gibbs, on top of everything! The whole thing had not been of her fault in the first place: she had been so upset about Peterson depersonalizing her lab that she had not realized the gravity of her actions before it had been too late. It had not crossed Abby's mind to apologize, though: she was a huge fan of the very convenient Gibbs' rule no. 6 and she had never bothered to learn the basics of common courtesy. But desperate times called for desperate measures and Abby was ready to swallow her pride, as long as it would grant her the means to reach her silver-haired fox.

She left her lab in a dash, disregarding the curious or worried looks from passing-by forensics scientists, and headed to the morgue. She would usually avoid going there since gored corpses usually gave her the creeps – in spite of her heavy involvement in the Goth culture – but she had to save her job at all costs.

Just before reaching the revolving doors of the morgue, she heard the sound of an electric saw and it could only mean Ducky and Jimmy were busy dealing with their latest patient. Repressing a shudder, she opened wide the doors and shouted:

"Hi, Ducky!"

But her greetings fell on deaf ears: the M.E. and his assistant were cutting open the chest of a dead Marine lying on a stab and the ear-piercing sound of the saw had made them miss Abby's sensational entrance. A bit put off by the disruption, the Lab Rat shouted again:

"Hi, Ducky! Ducky! DUCKY!"

Still no answer.

"**DUCKY!"** shouted Abby at the top of her lungs.

The M.E. finally realized something was up; he switched off the electric saw, lifted his polycarbonate face shield maculated with blood and glanced around the morgue, soon imitated by Jimmy. Ducky was startled to see the pig-tailed woman smiling shyly at him, shifting from foot to foot and twisting her hands in her lap in a very poor imitation of an embarrassed little girl.

"Abigail? What are you doing here? It's too early; I haven't started the post-mortem of poor Petty Officer Brooks yet."

Abby could not give a damn about Petty Officer Brooks and she had wished Jimmy would go away quickly but, judging from the frown of the Gremlin's face, it was not going to happen anytime soon. Jimmy was still crossed about her pushing away Ducky in a fit of anger and apparently he had elected himself personal bodyguard of Doctor Mallard. Oh well, if that scrawny scarecrow liked to have delusions of grandeur, more power to him!

"Er… I'm not here about Brooks, Duck-man. I wanted to tell you… Well, I wanted to apologize for having pushed you."

Ducky and Jimmy looked at the Lab Rat with rounded eyes, but soon enough their expression of surprise was replaced by suspicion and anger and the Goth woman got a bit unnerved by their reaction. She had said what they had wanted to hear for weeks, so why were they not happy?

"What do you want, Abigail?" asked Ducky with a no-nonsense tone.

"I've told you, I wanted to apologize for…"

"Abigail, don't take me for an idiot. You want something so spare me the phony politeness and ask away. Doctor Palmer and I are very busy."

"Oh, Ducky, please give me a chance! You cannot imagine how sorry I am…"

"I cannot imagine, indeed."

Silence fell inside the morgue, troubled only with the faint electrical buzzing of the neon lights in the ceiling. Abby was starting to feel very uncomfortable; Ducky had his face carved in stone and Jimmy's eyes were shining furiously behind his glasses, a radical change from the normally affable and pleasant medical examiners.

"Ducky, I am sincere. I really don't know what possessed me to push you away. I didn't realize it could have terrible consequences for you…"

"And you took your sweet time to apologize to Doctor Mallard," interrupted Jimmy. "Then again, why would you rush? We've at your beck and call, hmm?"

"Doctor Palmer, please!"

"Oh come on, Doctor Mallard! You don't actually believe she came all the way down to the morgue just to express her regrets for her revolting behavior?"

"No I don't, Mister Palmer. This is why I'd like to have Abigail's **real** reasons for having come to the morgue, and without time-wasting interruptions."

"Oh, Ducky!"

"Please, Abigail. Your presence here disrupts our work and upsets Doctor Palmer, so be as brief and concise as possible: what do you **really** want?"

Abby swallowed with difficulty; her position at NCIS was truly imperiled if even understanding Ducky and nervous Jimmy refused to show her the littlest amount of respect. Oh, how she wished Gibbs was here! He would fix the situation with a snap of his fingers and she would be saved!

"Ducky, I wanted to apologize to you and… I-I wanted to ask you a question. Gibbs' in L.A. and I really, really need to talk with him. It's almost a matter of life and death; Peterson has filed a complaint against me and, without Gibbs' support, I'm as good as fired and it cannot happen. It simply cannot happen! So I wondered if maybe… Maybe he left you a number to reach him? I've tried his cell phone several times but all I got is his voicemail. This mission in L.A. is probably important but it cannot be as vital as me keeping my job, now, can it? And since Gibbs and you are such good friends…"

Ducky let out a long-suffering sigh.

"Doctor Palmer, would you be kind enough to make some tea? I'm in a desperate need for a cup of Earl Grey."

"Likewise, Doctor Mallard. Besides, I cannot stay in this morgue any longer; it stinks of hypocrisy in here!"

Jimmy went to the office and slammed the door loudly behind him, startling Abby. But what surprised her more was Ducky saying:

"Abigail, this is the final straw. Your behavior during the past months has been unbearable but your fake attempt of apologizing coupled with a deliberate attempt to endanger Jethro is more than I can bear."

"What? But, Duck-man…"

"For your information, I didn't have the slightest idea of where Jethro was before you barged inside the morgue under false pretences. I was unaware about a trip in Los Angeles – in spite of what you think, Jethro and I are not joined at the hip – and consequently, I don't know about his current whereabouts. But, as you are quite aware of, agents on mission are not supposed to receive phone calls from friends or families because it could compromise their cover. And yet, you've tried to pry information from me in order to communicate with Jethro, regardless of the fact that he's presently doing field work and your inopportune interference could very well cost him his life."

"No, no! I wouldn't do anything that could endanger Gibbs!" protested Abby in tears.

"Oh, that's true – you usually keep your reckless actions for Timothy, don't you? His departure has certainly revealed the real you in front of all the other NCIS agents: your suffocating concern about the canine Jethro; your inability to admit your wrongs after Director Vance has suspended you for two months; your overreaction about Peterson's improvements in your lab and the insults you served him, resulting in him filing a complaint for verbal abuse. And now, the abject fear you feel about being unemployed has prompted you to give me an insincere apology, in the hopes I would reveal you in the following conversation the way to contact Gibbs while he's on a secret mission and discretion is the watchword. Abigail, I am very disappointed."

"Ducky…"

"Please leave, Abigail. I don't know the way to contact Jethro and even if I knew, I wouldn't tell you – regardless of crocodile tears falling on my morgue's floor. You should have used your time off to think about your past actions towards Timothy instead of denying you've wronged him over and over again, and that your suspension has been of your own fault. After you were finally allowed to come back at NCIS, you should have made amends instead of another scandal about Peterson's changing a few things in your lab. Frankly, it was nothing an hour of redecoration could have fixed and yet, you had to go and throw another ridiculous temper tantrum. And you wonder why Peterson has filed a complaint against you? Unlike what you may think, insulting people is not an action without consequences. Peterson is not of the impressionable kind and Jethro's ex-Marine past won't be enough to reduce your nemesis to silence."

"But…"

"All in one: you'll have to wait for Jethro's return like any other person to tell him about your woes, as I can't – and won't – help you in contacting him in a direct violation of NCIS' protocols. In the meantime, you will deal with your problems on your own like the adult you're supposed to be, and stop resorting to childish stratagems in the hopes to gain a mean of communication with Jethro. You'd better keep a very low profile, Abigail: the slightest mention of you disobeying orders once again would lead Director Vance to show you the door immediately, and without any kind of appeal available. Jethro is not almighty and besides, his mind is presently very preoccupied by Timothy's situation."

"What? No! _Gibbs always thinks of me first!_"

"Not this time, Abigail: Timothy has taken absolutely top priority in Jethro's thoughts and actions. He won't rest before the dear lad is back to DC safe and sound, and rightly so. Now, Doctor Palmer will be back in a minute with the tea so I advise you to go back to your lab at once to preserve the calm of this morgue and the serenity of my mind, both of them having being troubled by your presence. Petty Officer Brooks has a story to tell and your troubles pale in comparison of his sad demise, don't you think so?"

TBC…


	60. A reunion

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- Thank you very much to all my reviewers wishing me well for the dissertation. It is much appreciated! :oD

- To None: everybody will indeed be happy to see Tim back at NCIS, but I don't think Ducky and Jimmy will have to arrange an accident: Abby can get into trouble by herself quite well!

- To Abby: thank you very much!

- To Jodie: I hope you'll like this new chapter as well ;o)

- To Guest: more Tim in this chapter, I promise!

- To Mark Gibbs: I think suggestion no. 4 will be concretized (hint hint)

- To RedDragen: I have missed your reviews, too.

- To Sal: I'm glad to have not disappointed your wait.

- To shockokaffee: thanks! I truly appreciate the 'down time', frankly.

- There's a gory detail at the end of the chapter: yu be warned!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 60: A reunion!<strong>

_Near the ISAF base..._

CIA Agent Trent Kort had his eyes glued to the long, unsteady silhouette of a young man slowly walking towards the gates of ISAF.

His logical mind was telling him that he was doing the right thing by staying prudently at a good distance from the US Marines and their notorious inquisitiveness: Kort really was not in the mood for a tour around the base ending with a boring visit of an interrogation room. He was a man of shadows, pulling strings as long as it would serve his purposes and his tendency of cutting said strings with any scruples whatsoever had earned him more enemies than he could count. His CIA colleagues were wary of him, the US Army hated his guts, Federal Agencies execrated him and America's sworn enemies had placed quite a respectable bounty on his head. So the only reasonable thing for him to do was to blend in the background and remain as discreet as possible.

However, and for the first time of his life, Kort was having a hard time in doing so; a small, unreasonable part of his brains was screaming at him, telling him to get out of the car and help the wounded young man who was so painfully walking under the Afghan sun, looking like he was going to keel over in a minute. Kort worried his bottom lip, something he had not done since his childhood in England. From his early years, he had thought only about himself, as cutting off any kind of attachment was – according to him – the only way to avoid weaknesses. The rogue had seen too many fellow spies meeting an early death from being involved with a woman, having kids, or even running to a friend's aide; sentiments made people do stupid things and Kort had sworn to not fall into such a lousy trap, good only for losers.

And yet… Kort had to admit he had grown attached to McGee. Searching for the missing butterfly had looked like a good move at the time, a way to hold out on Gibbs and thus, to keep NCIS off Kort's back for a while. But an incongruous reason had slowly seeped into the rogue's mind: he had wanted to _**save**_ McGee simply because he _**liked**_ him.

He had no clues of how this kind of magic had happened, though. Severely censored by Gibbs, McGee had barely exchanged ten words with the CIA man in his life but it had been enough for Kort to discern the kid's brilliance, genuine politeness and potential, making a sharp contrast with Gibbs' pig-headedness and DiNozzo's motor-mouth. A rose had grown on the NCIS's dunghill and Kort was not eager to see it damaged.

Years of self-preservation made the rogue to remain quietly where he was but he could not help but feeling concerned about McGee, so the only thing left to do was to hope for the best and expect the worse. So far, the kid had been walking without being importuned by a concerned citizen intrigued by the sight of a wounded American clad in local clothes – and Kort had a gun with a silencer near at hand, in case a Taliban-sympathizer would try to have a go at his protégé – but the CIA's wild card would breathe a lot more easier once McGee would be back inside ISAF, under the protection of about a thousand men in arms.

McGee was making good progression, though; only a few yards left to walk and then Kort would go his way. A thin smile spread on Kort's lips: _backbone of steel…_

* * *

><p><em>Meanwhile, at ISAF…<em>

Captain Shadely was close to tore his cap off his head, slam it to the ground and kick it repeatitively, out of sheer frustration!

Following General Stephenson's orders, he had updated Gibbs and Ziva on the circumstances of McGee's kidnapping and the means deployed to find him, but the silver-haired man had been trouble from the very beginning. Gibbs had criticized, denigrated, mocked and snarled at every of Shadely's affirmations about the Marines sparing no effort to find the missing Lieutenant, ending with the inevitable conclusion that he would do a better job and with less fuss. Gibbs had even stated that the Marines Corps had lost their edge from using worthless technological gizmos and nothing beat the good ol' guts.

Shadely was seriously considering locking up the impossible man in one of ISAF's underground rooms and throw away the key before carrying on updating David, who seemed more in control of her anger. However, the Captain would not do the mistake to underestimate her – the woman had proven to be quite resourceful in a fight and doubtless she would come to her Team Leader's aid!

Nobody at the base knew about Gibbs and David being NCIS Federal Agents on a search-and-rescue mission. Stephenson had made damn sure that information had not come out of the interrogation room; the MPs had been sworn to silence and Shadely had made sure the privates involved in Gibbs and David's arrest would keep their mouth shut about the whole matter – including Private Hogan, the one with the bloodied nose. However, the Captain knew he was living on borrowed time: being in company of a querulous man and a dangerous woman wearing neither Marines' uniforms nor I.D. badges would inevitably raise questions and the men should not be distracted from trying to find Lieutenant McGee.

"So, when in the world are we going to leave this God-forsaken base to search for McGee?" growled Gibbs.

Shadely rolled his eyes heavenwards; were all NCIS Agents this dense or did Gibbs ask such stupid questions on purpose, just to annoy him?

"Agent Gibbs, you've heard General Stephenson's orders: you and Agent David are not to leave ISAF under any circumstances, as your presence in Kabul could compromise our efforts in finding Lieutenant McGee's kidnappers."

"If you think I gonna stay glued here like a wasp on flypaper then you're gravely mistaken, son! I wanna find McGee and no one will stop me, not even your General. McGee's **my** man and no one messes with one of mines, got it?"

"Unfortunately for you, Agent Gibbs, this is ISAF and General Stephenson is sole authority here. You should be grateful he hasn't locked the both of you in the brig for disrupting our work but the General can change his mind at any moment, do you hear?"

"Stephenson can go to blazes; as far as I'm concerned, he's sole responsible for McGee's disappearance. So if he ever tries his high-and-mighty number on me I'll give him some extra stars to add on the four he wears on his epaulettes!"

"Gibbs..." said Ziva in a warning tone, her eyes shining like jet stones.

Shadely shook his head and, to avoid punching a certain NCIS Agent on the nose, he silently repeated his favorite mantra: _"Three years 'till retirement, three years 'till retirement..."_

"Look, Captain, we appreciate the efforts you and your men are doing to find McGee," said Ziva in a more diplomatic tone. "We're not here to be a 'hindance' but to offer our expertise in gathering clues and interrogate suspects to participate in your investigations. Maybe we could interview the survivors of the attack, to see if one of them is remembering something that could give us a clue about the kidnappers?"

"The survivors have already been thoroughly interrogated, Agent David," said the Captain stiffly. "They certainly have not kept any interesting information for themselves."

"No, of course not. But the interrogations were conducted right after the attack and your men were suffering from shellshock and wounds. Now that the trauma has lessened and they're on the road to recovery, your men are more likely to remember a word, a face, a name that they had picked up during the attack but have temporarily forgotten. I've seen this happening more than once in Israel, Captain: traumatized survivors who could barely give their names right after the blast, but after a while they start remembering what happened before all everything broke loose and it gave Mossad precious clues about the perpetrators."

It pained Shadely to admit the woman had a valid point: although Fredericks, Spikerman, Roberts and Emerson had given their statements right after being admitted at the hospital, they had been in such a terrible shape that it had taken a lot of time to make head or tails of their testimonies. Another interview could not hurt and it would provide the NCIS Agents with an occupation, instead of them driving him crazy with silly demands. Besides, the formidable Nurse Pritchard was on duty today and she was not the kind to tolerate raised voices within hospital rooms: Gibbs would have to behave!

"Yes, Agent David, your demand is reasonable. But you will understand I have to accompany you to the hospital and assist to the interviews of my men, at all times."

"Of course, Captain and we thank you for allowing us to talk to these brave Marines. Right, Gibbs?"

The Team Leader grunted, his face carved in stone.

"All right, follow me."

"_Three years 'till retirement, three years 'till retirement..."_

Gibbs gritted his teeth in anger but an idea slowly grew inside his mind; talking to the wounded until tongues dried out would only be a waste of precious time whereas they should be out in the streets of Kabul, interviewing everyone on sight and using 'persuasion", if needed. Stephenson seemed determined in keeping Gibbs at ISAF against his will but the silver-haired man would be damned before some pompous airbag of a General ever stopped him from finding his son. Nobody stood in the way of Leroy Jethro Gibbs!

Still, Ziva had a good idea suggesting a visit to the hospital: it had given Gibbs the outlines of a possible escape. It would be easier to give Shadely the slip while the Captain would be distracted by the tragic sight of the wounded lying in beds mixed with groans of pain, hopes and despair. Gibbs would find an opening, run outside in the courtyard, find a jeep and fire its engine up before smashing ISAF's gates to bits – like he had done previously at Base Andrews – and then he would conduct the search for Tim _his_ way and he would find the kid in a snap!

Gibbs felt a bit bad at the thought of leaving Ziva behind to endure Stephenson' wrath but she would understand her Boss' motives. Besides, it was better if she stayed at the base or sent back to the US by the first available plane. Ziva was a woman, a former Mossad officer and a Jew: it was too dangerous for her to stroll about in a war-torn country, regardless of her fighting skills and Gibbs could not endure an _encore_ of Somalia. He had not been able to stop her from leaving DC but he could maneuver to make her stay in a safe place while he would be looking for Tim. And even if Ziva would be furious enough to skin her Boss alive, well, it would be a small price to pay for saving his youngest son!

His plan was done, his mind was made up. Gibbs had a small smile as he followed Shadely and Ziva. The hospital overlooked the courtyard and Gibbs would seize the opportunity to take a peek at the vehicles parked nearby; a Jeep would do the trick nicely, or even a Hummer. Years of lock-picking had made it so easy to switch on the ignition of cars without using a key...

* * *

><p><em>At ISAF's courtyard…<em>

General Stephenson had taken five minutes for a much-needed breath of fresh air. After a week of non-stop work and the unbearable worries about McGee, Gibbs' irruption at the base had been as welcomed as a bull in a china shop!

The man had not changed a bit: still the arrogant, know-it-all and pig-headed guy the General had met during the Gulf War. It was a wonder Gibbs had managed to get a position in a federal agency with this attitude – and even more surprising to think McGee had worked under the man's orders for years. Either the kid was glutton for punishment or he was blessed with the patience of an angel! Stephenson had more inclination for the second option, though; the unsolved incident in the shower rooms had proved McGee could defend his life against predators. But the kid was too damn polite for his own good and he must have developed his patience when dealing with petty-minded people known as 'bullies'.

Unfortunately for said bullies, their victims grew up, matured and accomplished great things, leaving tormentors behind in the dust... Just like his Christopher did after he had received the valedictorian award at age fifteen, under the jealous gaze of his fellow students in high school. And he was certain Chris would have gone to high places, if it had not been for this plane...

Some muffled shouts behind his back made Stephenson groan and he turned about with an irritated scowl on his face. Now what? Why his men could not deal with menial things while he was busy thinking about his...

"**SON?"** exclaimed the General.

Stephenson could hardly believe his own eyes: Timothy McGee was there, right in the middle of the courtyard!

But the kid looked like a ghost that had escaped from a battlefield in the desert. He was dressed in torn Afghani clothes that would not have fitted a scarecrow; his emaciated face was marked with bruises and wounds; his wobbling gait betrayed extreme fatigue and his green eyes were dimmed, as if Death had grazed him with a soft touch of its horrible, skeletal fingertips.

At the gates, MPs and guards on duty were rushing towards McGee; they had been floored by the missing Lieutenant's sudden reappearance that they had sounded the alarm but Tim, in his exhaustion, had not heard the guards telling to stay put until help would come. He had kept on walking inside the base like a robot, deaf to imprecations or orders and then, just at the moment he thought he was going to fall down and everything would be over, salvation had appeared in the granite-faced General Stephenson.

Tim tried to say _"Sir"_ but the only sound that came out of his mouth was a feeble moan. He collapsed on his knees, inwardly cursing the faintness for making him miss his goal just minutes from finally reaching it. Black circles got tangled in front of his eyes, like malevolent aureoles. He had failed. He was going to die and he would never be able to tell Stephenson what had happened in the desert. He had failed Aimee. She wanted him to live but he was too feeble to honor his promise. He was weak, just like his father had told him over and over again; like Gibbs had said over the bullpen at NCIS; like Tony who had stated this fact with loud roars of laughter; like Amanda, Jessica, Susan, all the women who had threw his sentiments back to his face; like Abby...

Vertigo seized Tim but a pair of hands appeared out of nowhere and suddenly broke his fall. The impact pulled the young man out of his dizziness, as well as a man's voice shouting loudly nearby:

"SON! SON!"

"Dad?" mumbled Tim, and then grief seized his heart. Of course Admiral McGee would not be around, why would he be bothered with a useless son? Tim was fooling himself, once again. He would never learn...

_Then who was calling him?_

"McGee? Son, can you hear me?"

Water was hastily splashed on his face, making him cough like a drowned man who had been revived by lifeguards. He was lying in the courtyard's sand and his neck was resting in the crook of a strong arm, keeping his upper body in an upward position. He opened his eyes and he sighed in relief as his vision was clearer; the dark circles had been replaced by the concerned faces of General Stephenson and several Marines, looming above him as if they were looking down in a well. A Marine on his right had a flask in his hand; Stephenson was on his left and he...

Oh, God! Tim's heart skipped a beat as he realized the General was cradling him in his arms while yelling orders to find a medic, to bring a stretcher, to warn Captain Bennett at the hospital about a patient needing urgent medical care and move it, everyone!

"Gen'-ral..." whispered Tim.

"Stay calm, son. Save your strength; help will arrive in a minute."

"P-Please..."

"Hush, Chris," said Stephenson, putting his free hand on Tim's sunburned face in a soothing gesture. "All will be okay, I promise you. You need to be calm and everything will go right. Can you do this for me, son?"

Tim felt tremors shaking his body from head to toes and he wanted nothing but to surrender to the calls of unconsciousness that were getting more and more insistent by the second. But he could not faint right away; he had to tell Stephenson about the attack. The Marine with the flask poured some water in the palm of his hand and dabbed Tim's brow and head in an effort to reduce the risk of sunstroke. The cool liquid running through his hair gave McGee a small amount of clarity and he managed to say:

"Sir – please – need t-to – tell you..."

Stephenson sensed that Tim wanted to say something and would not rest until he did so; fearing the agitation would compromise the young man's chances of recovery, the General relented and placed his ear close to Tim's mouth:

"What is it, son?"

"Attack – led by – American... – Am-merican working – for – the... the T-Taliban..."

Stephenson's eyes darkened like thunderclouds at those words. His men and a brave woman had been killed because of a revolting turncoat who had sold his services to the enemy for money! Just like the one whose fingerprints had been found on one of the glass mines detected by The Watcher...

A horrible suspicion formed inside the General's brains and his face suddenly blanched as Tim's next words confirmed what he was thinking:

"A-American – he was c-called... – called... – _'Boutlir'_..."

Stephenson felt his heart turning into lead inside his chest. _'Boutlir'_... or Butler, like Burt Butler, the mercenary he had wanted to get his hands on for weeks! By an awful coincidence, it had been the same who had orchestrated the attack in where Sergeant Raff and Captain Wilkins had lost their lives. He was the one responsible for wounding Roberts and the others. _Butler was the culprit who had kidnapped his son!_

* * *

><p>Sergeant Kenneth Miller was walking his way to the courtyard, cursing both his wound and Butler's tardiness in delivering him some new opium pills. His leg was finally on the mend but running was still out of the question and the Sergeant had a hard time dodging the coming and going idiots who were running through the base like a spooked herd of buffalos. What in the bloody blue blazes was going on?<p>

One passing Marine was telling his buddy about a man down in the courtyard and how pressing it was to get a doctor as soon as possible, but Miller had shrugged at this piece of news: probably some bugger had been used as target practice by an isolated sniper, another case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. The Sergeant had no sympathy for victims, though: he considered it the laws of Nature that idiots got killed while the strong or the clever survived, and since he considered having both qualities, it made him quite invulnerable.

However, he had not heard from Butler for a while and that was a bit worrisome; even thought he did not miss the insulting mercenary at all, Miller would have appreciated to know how McGee's torture was being conducted. Not only was it sweet revenge on the Lieutenant for having knocked Wilkins, but Miller was eager to receive his share of ransom money as well! It was the reason he kept the burn phone Butler had given him in his pocket at all times: he did not want to miss the call announcing him the death of McGee and the arrival of the dough!

Thinking about money made the greedy Sergeant to walk in the courtyard, but certainly not to offer his assistance. If a man was indeed down, it could only mean there would be a crowd and in such circumstances, people did not pay attention to the discarded belongings of the poor sucker. A golden opportunity for Miller to make a quick search and get his paws on whatever valuables hidden in backpacks or bags...

* * *

><p>The General wanted to roar his rage to the skies, but the weight of the young man in his arms brought him back to reason. It was not the time to fall apart; McGee had went through Hell to give the Allied Forces this precious information and Alexander Stephenson would be damned before he would ask a man at death's door to repeat something simply because he had lost his calm. The General gathered all his self-control and simply nodded to the Marine to give McGee a few drops of water. The Marine, whose nametag displayed <em>'Collins'<em>, obeyed without adding a word. Tumult in the background was an indication that the medics would arrive any second now.

"Held me... – in cave... – esc-caped... – killed _'Boutlir'_..."

"_Way to go, son,"_ thought Stephenson, unconsciously tightening his hold on Tim.

"Fired... – R-RPG... – rocks fell... – Taliban... – are p-prisoners... – inside their c-cave..."

Collins' eyes widened in stupefaction and looked at his General, who seemed to be equally surprised. Throwing caution to the winds, Stephenson asked:

"Son, do you mean to tell me that you've locked up your abductors _**inside their own cave**_?"

"Yes..." mumbled Tim, trying to lick the droplets of water that had landed on his chapped lips. He was too weak to realize the impact of his words but the General's mind was already reeling with possibilities. Once McGee would feel better, he would be able to point out the site where he had been held captive on a map; then choppers would be sent and Marines would clear away the rocks before arresting the surviving Taliban; no doubt they would feel very talkative after some heavy questioning...

Tim gathered his remaining forces to whisper:

"He... – _'Boutlir'_... – he had an-an... – accomplice..."

"And do you know where he is, son?"

"H-Here... – at ISAF... – _'Boutlir'_ c-called him with... – with... – this phone..."

Tim tapped lightly at his pants' right pocket with the back of his hand, prompting Collins to conduct a quick search. He took out Butler's cell phone that Tim had retrieved after he had killed the mercenary and switched it on. A lot of numbers were displayed on the screen and it would have taken a long time before identifying them all, but Tim gestured to the Marine to bring the phone closer to him.

"McGee, do you know the name of the accomplice?" asked Stephenson.

Tim exchanged a look with the General and raised a shaky hand towards the cell phone presented by Collins. In spite of his weakness, he managed to press his index finger on the button commanding the address book. The names scrolled for a few seconds and then, Tim stopped at a phone number bearing the label _'IDIOT'_ in capital letters. He pressed the calling button and, after a few seconds, a shrilling sound rang through the courtyard;

It was the ringing of another cell phone.

All the gathered Marines and General Stephenson looked as one man in the direction of the sound and eyes widened out of astonishment: the ringing was coming from the infamous Sergeant Miller, the most detested man of the base, who had joined the gathering!

"Miller," croaked Tim.

The Sergeant's face contorted in panic, followed by abject fear. No, no, it could not be! McGee-the-wimp had somehow escaped from Butler's clutches! He had managed to walk his way back to ISAF! _**And the little bastard had tricked him by calling his number! **_

Butler had assured him that McGee would never see the light of day again, but the mercenary had overestimated his abilities as well as his accomplices' in keeping a hostage. Then again, the Sergeant should have known better than to trust an unscrupulous arms dealer and a bunch of flea-infested rebels. Miller's mother was fond of quoting old sayings and, even though it had irritated her son like poison ivy, one had proven to be quite true: if you want something done correctly, you had to do it yourself.

Well, for the first time of his life, Miller was going to follow his mother's advice! Roaring in anger, he grabbed his gun out of its holster and aimed it point blank at McGee still lying on the ground, held in the General's arms. The Sergeant's hands were steady, his gaze filled with hatred. He had nothing to lose but if he was doomed to go to Hell, then there were no reasons why he should go alone. He wanted to take a few travelling companions with him: McGee, the cause of all his troubles, Stephenson and his mightier-than-thou attitude, plus a few privates that he despised so much...

"_**MILLER!"**_ yelled Tim at the top of his lungs.

The Dark Dove sprang into McGee's hand.

Stephenson and Collins jumped out of surprise.

The Sergeant's finger tightened on the trigger of his gun.

A blade flew through the air.

"**AAAUUUUUGGGGGGHHHH!"**

Miller dropped his gun on the courtyard's sand and he stared incredulously at the Dark Dove stuck firmly in his lower abdomen.

TBC…


	61. A realization

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

_- Ahava chély_ means "My love" in Hebrew (from the Fonebrew website).

- To Ananas: please don't burn up, I'm updating as fast as I can!

- To Josh: I don't think you've been the only one… In fact, I said about the same thing while writing about Miller's painful encounter with the Dark Dove.

- To Jeika: Miller is still needed around, but not for too long! xD

- To Guest: :oD

- To None: Gibbs isn't finished arguing with Stephenson, believe me!

- To Tom Williams: oh yes, Gibbs is going to have a tough time when Tim learns about him telling Butler!

- To EMZ1993: ask and you shall receive ;o)

- To RedDragen: thank you so much!

- To ollie260211: I'm glad you approve the way the story is evolving.

- To animelver: the Dark Dove did the revenge job very sharply, and Gibbs won't get off the hook easily

- To earthdragon: Miller got his dues, and Gibbs will be thwarted in his escape plan by an unplanned event.

- To McGivaShipper: thank you!

- To Mark Gibbs: sorry about the suspense, but I blame it all on the muse!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 61: A realization<strong>

_At ISAF..._

Miller dropped his gun on the courtyard's sand and he stared incredulously at the Dark Dove stuck firmly in his lower abdomen.

Sergeant Miller remained immobile for several seconds, as if he could not believe what had just happened to him. With his mouth agape, his rounded eyes and his hands on his lower abdomen, he looked like an obscene statue clad in MARPAT desert pattern uniform and it would have been comical except for the gush of blood running down on his legs, turning the color of his pants from sable to dark red. The Dark Dove, still firmly stuck into Miller's body, had done a job of massive destruction of the Sergeant's pride and joy, his virility.

Miller let out a moan and tried to grab the blade, but Ziva's gift was too cruelly embedded and the blood loss too massive for the Sergeant to ever hope removing it with his weakening hands. Inside his pants, something flabby and small detached itself from his lower abdomen and the realization of what McGee had done with his knife finally reached the Sergeant's brains. He opened his mouth even wider to yell but all that came out was a pitiful squeak before his legs gave under him. Miller collapsed in the courtyard's dust, his pants full of blood and the Dark Dove still protuberating from his zipper.

Stephenson had watched the whole thing with rounded eyes. Everything had gone so fast, his men had barely the time to reach for their weapons when the wild-eyed man had drawn his gun and pointed it at McGee. The General had reacted too slowly after the cell phone had rung. He should have had Miller arrested on the spot but his mind had been reeling from the revelation of the traitor's identity. Miller was a coward, no questions here, but there was a huge step to take from being the barracks' bully to sell out a country! Stephenson's tiny seconds of astonishment could have given Miller enough time to start shooting but a blade had been drawn from out of rags, the Sergeant had been neutered and Chris – no, Tim – had saved Stephenson and his men from the murdering rampage of a traitor-turned-madman.

The General tightened his hold on the young man in his arms. The debt he owned McGee was immense and he was not certain he would ever find a way to repay it in full, but there were more pressing matters at hand. Stephenson roared orders and within a few seconds, the gun was kicked out of the way, the mobile phone was retrieved for further investigation, two Marines ran to the hospital for help while two others were administrating first-aid to the Sergeant under the watchful eye of Private Collins, who was aiming his weapon at Miller's head in case he got any more funny ideas. Stephenson sighed in relief as he saw a gurney, a doctor and two orderlies rushing towards them: finally, his kid would get some medical assistance!

"It's over, son. Help is coming."

"S-S-Sir," whispered Tim, his emerald eyes still fixed on his enemy's body. He had wanted to avenge Aimee's death as well as the others' and he was glad Miller would have to answer for his actions, but a part of him still could not believe what he had just done. When the Sergeant had pointed his gun at Stephenson and the others, it had woken up Tim's instincts as a federal agent sworn to protect innocents and the Dark Dove had flown from his hand before he ever had time to think. The enemy had been neutralized but Tim was feeling increasingly dizzy, as if throwing his knife had spent the little strength he had left. The black circles were dancing in front of his eyes again and this time, he knew he would not be able to fight them.

Stephenson, realizing Tim was fading, gestured to the doctor, Captain Blythe; to come quicker. The kid could not die; he simply could not die after having escaped from terrorists and survived a harsh trek across the desert, this very idea was simply unimaginable. Stephenson would never forgive himself if McGee died from exhaustion after having saved Marines from the bullets of a demented Sergeant!

"Hang in there, son! Don't give up! You did good; you did really good but now, save your strength. Captain Blythe is here and he's the best doctor of the base; he'll fix you right up and you'll be as good as new. You've done great work and everyone here's in your debt, especially me. I need you to do some more magic so don't give up, okay? Hang on to life and everything will be all right. Can you do this, son? Can you do this one more miracle?"

A feeble _"Yessir…"_ was heard before Captain Blythe and the orderlies gathered around McGee like flies on a pot of honey to give first-aid.

Stephenson very reluctantly released his hold on Tim – it completely went against his paternal feelings but the soldier in him knew better than to interfere when doctors were at work. Meddling during medical care could cost his son his life and Captain Blythe had a strong dislike for backseat drivers. He was known all around the base for having no patience for time-wasters or people who would try – God forbid – to give him advice. Thankfully, Captain Blythe was very good at his job and in less than two minutes the wounded man was stabilized and strapped on a gurney. Sergeant Miller remained in the dust but his groans and moans were ignored, Stephenson having made clear _who_ the most important patient was.

Just before he was wheeled away from the courtyard and to the hospital, Tim felt a calloused hand on his forehead and this simple gesture of comfort made him sigh in relief.

_Thank you, Sir…_

* * *

><p>Had he been a cartoon character, Gibbs would have some smoke coming out of his ears at the moment!<p>

The silver-haired man was literally fuming since his escape was getting nowhere. Captain Shadely seemed to have telepathically guessed his plans as the man had followed him shadow-like once they had stepped inside the hospital. Ziva was busy interviewing a Corporal Roberts but if she had noticed the Captain's behavior, she did not mention it. Her whole being was focused on finding Tim and she was confident in her abilities to find a piece of information in the survivors' testimonies. She would not let a particle of sand unturned in the search for her special man!

Roberts had looked at Ziva with rounded eyes at first, debating about the lovely woman's presence at his bedside as a recent arrival of heavenly creatures on Earth or a mere consequence of his concussion. But once Ziva had explained the reasons of her quest, Roberts – after a nod of approval from Shadely – had told her everything he could remember from the attack. The Corporal had been moping for days about having to stay at the hospital, and being chastised by Captain Bennett after his escape to the General's office had not improved his mood, either. Roberts had hated being shunned of the investigation so Ziva's questions gave him a sense of usefulness at last.

"So you're saying that Lieutenant McGee got you out of the Humvee, and then dragged you to safety during the attack?" asked Ziva.

"Damn right, Miss, and he saved Private Winter as well. The Humvee fell into a river bed and the fuel tank got torn open during the attack. The gas was set on fire and the Humvee would have blown in a minute, with Winter and I stuck inside but the Lieutenant refused to leave the vehicle without us. He told Captain Wilkins to take cover and he grabbed the both of us and pulled until we were lying behind a boulder, shielded from enemy fire. Lieutenant McGee paid no heed to bullets or grenades, he didn't even though about his own safety; he wouldn't relent until we were all safe!"

That comment actually made Gibbs smile in pride for a second. _That's my boy…_

"Captain Wilkins started tending to our wounds but our Humvee got blown to Hell from a RPG," continued Roberts from his hospital bed. "A hail of debris fell on us and I remember about trying to drive away from the scene before an enemy aimed his weapon at me. A bullet from Lieutenant McGee stopped him dead and I heard him calling for Captain Wilkins… And then I must have passed out because the next thing I knew, I was at the hospital. General Stephenson told me about the abduction: I didn't witness it but Private Emerson, who survived the attack, said he saw the enemy grabbing the Lieutenant and carrying him like a sack of potatoes before they headed for the mountains."

"And you don't remember anything else… something you might have noticed during the attack? I know you were injured and in shock but sometimes, a souvenir can rise to the surface of your brains after some rest and adequate medical treatment."

Roberts frowned a bit at the strange expression, but nodded in approval: "As a matter of fact, Miss, I did remember something a few days ago. I told General Stephenson but he couldn't make any sense out of it."

"Well, maybe I can; what is it?"

After another sign of approval from Captain Shadely, the Corporal said:

"Er… You have to understand, when the attack happened my ideas weren't very clear. In fact, I kept on thinking about driving the Humvee away to protect Lieutenant McGee and I couldn't figure out why the wheel wasn't working. But after a while, I heard the enemies barking in their native tongue and the Lieutenant told Captain Wilkins they were talking about a lord travelling with us. But there were no bigwig in our rides! Just Lieutenant McGee, Captain Wilkins, Sergeant Raff, me and some privates; no one that would ever pretend to be a "lord" or even a British Royal Highness under a helicopter pilot's uniform."

It was Gibbs' turn to frown; why would the rebels plan an attack against two patrolling vehicles to try and grab somebody important? Each time a bigwig from DC had visited Afghanistan security measures had been top-notch at ISAF and around Kabul but trips in the desert were not included in the agenda. It was a too dangerous area, impossible to secure and the kidnapping of an American political figure would have devastating consequences for the US and their allies. It was a well-known fact that bigwigs never wandered in the Afghani desert, so who could be this "lord"? Most likely the money-hungry rebels mistook their dreams for reality. It really sounded like nonsense and a big, fat waste of his time!

Gibbs was seriously reconsidering making his break and get out of the hospital – Captain Shadely be damned – but Roberts' next words made him stay rooted on the spot: "I remember Lieutenant McGee firing his gun at our Humvee… It destroyed his laptop and set the vehicle on fire. He probably didn't want our gear to fall into the wrong hands; some rebels are willing to pay a fortune for American guns and uniforms."

_Tim had destroyed his computer? Tim, his technology-addict baby, had deliberately smashed to smithereens a laptop? That didn't make any more sense than the presence of a "lord" in a US Marines' Humvee!_

But one glance from Ziva made the silver-haired man understand what had really happened: Tim's Special Project, of course! The hush-hush thingie his youngest had discreetly worked on for months before going to a war zone, leaving a lot of astonished people behind. Ten-to-one the Special Project had been on the laptop, prompting Tim to destroy it before the Taliban could get their paws on it!

Vance had said that if Gibbs had ever bothered to investigate, he would have found out that McGee was much more than a computer tech finding clues in the digital world just to be rebuked by his esteemed colleagues. Gibbs had cursed his snobbery for days afterwards: like DiNozzo, he did not think much about book-learning and Tim's degrees from Johns Hopkins and MIT had not impressed him in the latest. And yet, if he had ever cared to look deeper, he would have realized Tim had the skills of a computer engineer and thus, was perfectly able to design a program that would be extremely valuable for the US forces in Afghanistan or everywhere else in the world. And somehow, hostile ears had learned about the secret gizmo; hence the attack and Tim's destruction of his work tool.

Gibbs considered this as plausible and one look at Ziva's dark eyes confirmed the ex-Mossad had reached the same conclusions. However, it did not explain why the rebels had been firmly convinced of a "lord" being amongst US Marines. Could they rely on Roberts' testimony? The man had been through Hell and back so it was normal to think his memories were a jumbled mess.

At the same moment, hurried footsteps were heard in the corridor. Gibbs turned around, as well as Captain Shadely and Ziva to see what the matter was and soon enough, a gurney surrounded by medics and orderlies passed by Roberts' room. Out of habit, the Team Leader took a quick look at the prone figure on the gurney: probably another poor soul that had earned a very long stay at the hospital, a much too-common sight in war zones.

But one of the orderlies moved to grab a compress, revealing the patient's face and Gibbs's heart suddenly froze. In spite of the blood and grim, he had perfectly recognized….

"**TIM."**

"What?" exclaimed Ziva and Captain Shadely with one voice.

"**TIMMY!"** roared Gibbs again before running after the gurney like a man possessed.

From his bed, Captain Roberts watched with rounded eyes.

Gibbs' long strides made him catch up with the gurney in no time, ignoring Shadely's orders to come back. Alarmed by the shouts, the orderlies instinctively reduced their pace but Captain Blythe called them to order with a few chosen, harsh words: nothing should make them deviate from taking the patient to the nearest treatment room!

"**TIM! Hold it, you fools! Let me have a look at him!"**

"Clear the way," shot Captain Blythe back. "This man must receive immediate medical care or he'll die!"

"**He's my son!"**

The orderlies stared at Gibbs in shock.

"I don't care if you're the President of the United States, fella! Right now you're interfering with the treatment of a patient and I won't let you compromise his chances of survival. So now, back off!" growled Captain Blythe.

"**You bastard, I'll tear your throat out…"**

"Tim! Oh my God, it's really him!" said Ziva, horrified by the state of her friend. McGee looked even worse than her after she had been rescued from Somalia and she had not thought it was humanely possible. It was obvious Tim had been tortured and she swore to flay alive the men responsible for this. No one messed with her friend, absolutely no one!

Captain Shadely was inwardly repeating his favorite mantra as things were getting a turn for the worse: Lieutenant McGee had managed to find his way back to ISAF but the sight of him wounded and barely conscious seemed to have driven the NCIS Agents over the edge, especially the man who looked like he would torn apart anything or anyone blocking his way.

Roberts had gotten out of bed and he was looking at the scene displayed down the corridor from his room's doorframe. It looked like some kind of demented tug-of-war around a gurney and the Corporal could not see who the wounded man was but, considering his visitors' reaction, it could only be Lieutenant McGee!

Ziva grabbed at one of Tim's hands and squeezed it tightly. She knew she should step down and leave the medical staff do their jobs but she could not help herself. Ziva was as tough as the next Marine but after weeks of worry and the devastating news of the kidnapping she needed the reassurance that McGee was indeed alive – even for only a second. Gibbs, livid from rage, was trying to reach for Tim; one of the orderlies tried to stop him and got punched on the nose for his troubles.

"Hey!" exclaimed Blythe but his protests fell on deaf ears as Gibbs knocked him away from the gurney. Shadely gestured towards some Marines for reinforcement before things would degenerate. Gibbs' shocking action prompted Roberts and he limped towards the scene of the confrontation as best as he could, resolute in neutralizing the madman before he would fight against the whole medical staff of ISAF.

"Tim! Son, can you hear me?" asked Gibbs..

"S-Sir?" whispered the wounded man on the gurney, making Gibbs to stop dead on his tracks. Why would Tim _"Sir"_ him? Gibbs had made it clear he was to be called _"Boss"_ and his subordinates had followed this order since their first day at NCIS. God, what had happened to the kid? Did his kidnappers somehow damage his brains?

Tim's eyes fluttered open but all he could see was two blurred shapes hovering above him: one dark and the other white. The dark shape had grabbed his hand while the other was shouting words too loud for him to understand. Tim groaned from the pain of his injuries and his hand was squeezed in support. There was something familiar about the shapes and they seemed important but he was too weak to comprehend what was happening…

"Tim? _Ahava chély_, be strong. You have to be strong!"

"Get out of here or I'll have you both thrown in jail!" yelled Captain Blythe.

"**I'd like to see you try! This man's one of mines, do you hear?"** shouted Gibbs back. But he did not have enough time to say more as the Marines seized him and Ziva, forcefully tearing them away from McGee.

Blythe seized the occasion to push the gurney down the corridor along with the two orderlies – one helping the other with his bloodied nose. Within seconds, they disappeared with their precious cargo behind the revolving doors bearing the caption: _"Authorized personnel only"_, leaving the rest to the competences of Captain Shadely.

"**WHAT IN GOD'S NAME IS GOING ON HERE?" **roared a new voice, making Shadely to turn around while the Marines were efficiently pinning Gibbs and Ziva against the wall. General Stephenson had appeared in the corridor, looking positively furious. Roberts clumsily saluted and Shadely silently counted the years before retirement before answering:

"Sorry, Sir. There has been an incident, Sir."

"What kind of incident?"

"It appears that Lieutenant McGee was being taken to the hospital when… er… those _persons_ saw him," answered Shadely, not wanting to give away Gibbs and Ziva's real identity in front of the Marines holding them. "And they were quite put off by the state of Lieutenant McGee so they tried to talk to him, regardless of Captain Blythe's orders to clear the way. There has been a scuffle, but situation is under control now and Lieutenant McGee is taken care of by Captain Blythe as we speak."

"Corporal Roberts, have you witnessed the scene?" asked Stephenson.

"Yes, Sir."

"Do you confirm Captain Shadely's declaration?"

"Yes, Sir."

Gibbs glared at Roberts but the Corporal did not move an inch.

"Have you gone crazy, Gibbs? How dare you try to stop Captain Blythe, the best doctor of ISAF? And you fought against the staff, as well? I'm really beginning to think you want to demolish this base one stone after another!"

"Please, Sir, we were upset," said Ziva, trying not to grimace from having her arms twisted in her back by a Marine. She would have kicked the man on the shins but something told her it would not help the situation much. "Seeing Tim in such a state…"

"It's _**Lieutenant**_ McGee to you, and he has to have treatment as soon as possible! Do you realize your stunt could have cost him precious seconds he cannot afford to waste? He needs medical help, not a pair of morons blocking his way to the hospital!"

"Look who's talking," snarled Gibbs, his face pressed against the wall by two determined Marines. "This whole situation's your fault and you have the nerve to call us morons? This thing would never have happened under my watch!"

"Oh, yes? Do I have to remind you of a certain letter, Gibbs?"

"That letter was none of your business in the first place and you have no right to interfere. Tim's not **your** son!"

"Neither is he **yours**."

The cold answer made Gibbs kick over the traces and he would have jumped at Stephenson's throat if not for the two Marines holding him. Roberts stepped in front of the General to protect him from the snarling Gibbs but his superior officer gently pushed him aside; he appreciated the gesture but the Corporal was barely recovering from injuries and Stephenson did not want to risk a relapse.

"Captain Shadely, take this man to the brig and lock him up for the night. Hopefully, by tomorrow morning he'd have cooled off and agree to behave like a proper Marine instead of acting like a drunk on a Saturday night. If not, keep him under lock and key until he'll relent. This is a military base, not a seedy bar in a god-forsaken neighborhood and I won't tolerate any kind of scandal. Like it or not, McGee is under _**my**_ protection and you are not to harass him just to ease your conscience, Gibbs."

"Your protection? My a**! The kid is at death's doors because you failed to do your job properly, General," said Gibbs spitefully.

"Captain Shadely, you'll lock this man for three days. You want to add something else, Gibbs?"

"Go to Hell!"

"Make it five days! Now, move!"

As the Marines dragged the struggling, cursing and all-around furious Gibbs out of the hospital, Corporal Roberts asked:

"What about the woman, Sir?"

"Shadely, take her to a room for the night and guard her. She may look more reasonable than Gibbs but I won't allow McGee to have visitors until Captain Blythe says otherwise. Am I making myself clear?"

"Quite, Sir. At your orders, Sir."

The Marine released his hold on Ziva, who barely repressed the urge to kick the man's balls until they would turn into potato _purée_, but she had more pressing matters at hands.

For starters, and for Tim's sake, how was she going to avoid another conflict between Gibbs and Stephenson?

TBC…


	62. An affliction

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- Details about Arlington National Cemetery come from Wikipedia.

- Stephenson's quote is from the play _Henry VI_, written around 1591 by William Shakespeare (1564-1616)

- To Jelka: I'm glad you liked Miller's fate ;o)

- To Guest: Gibbs will indeed be in trouble once Stephenson will realize what he had done!

- To RedDragen: Tim and Ziva will see each other soon, but the romance won't start before Tim's bereavement will end.

- To Russian Guest: thank you!

- To Sal: I hope you'll like the new chapter!

- To Guest: there will be two Papa Bears in this story… Who will win?

- To McGivaShipper: ouch, a kick in the potato sack would hurt, but Tim will give Gibbs a piece of his mind nonetheless.

- To None: Vance will patiently wait for Gibbs to come back before chewing him out for his impromptu expedition in Afghanistan :oP

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><p><strong>Chapter 62: An affliction<strong>

_Two days later, at ISAF..._

General Stephenson walked towards the hospital's building at a quick but dignified pace, a file tucked under his arm. He was finally allowed to visit McGee, two days after the kid's miraculous reappearance in the courtyard. His survival, combined with the neutering of Sergeant Miller, had put the whole base in an uproar! All the Marines, medical staff and administrative personnel could talk about was the extraordinary courage of that quiet Lieutenant who had escaped from the Taliban's clutches, crossed miles of desert on foot without any food or water and revealed the identity of a traitor just before neutering said traitor with one Hell of a flying knife.

As he walked down the corridors, Stephenson could not help but hear bribes of conversation from people crossing his path:

"_Here comes the General. He's probably on his way to see McGee."_

"_Lieutenant's feeling better, then?"_

"_Yeah, and he's gonna tell us what happened when he was taken by the rebels."_

"_Captain Wilkins was a good doctor and she'll be sadly missed. Winter was barely twenty years old and Sergeant Raff was a decent sort. Their deaths must be avenged!"_

"_Oh, don't you worry about that. The General won't rest before each and every terrorist will pay for what they did to our men."_

"_From what I've heard, McGee managed to entrap his captors before fleeing to Kabul. Meaning that if he remembers where he has been held, we'll just have to pick them up and they won't be in any state to oppose resistance!"_

"_But what if he doesn't?"_

"_In that case, I don't envy them… Starving to death in a cave is a nasty way to go."_

"_And Miller?"_

"_What about him?"_

"_What's gonna happen to him?"_

"_Don't know, don't care. He's scum!"_

The felon, Sergeant Miller, had been transported to the hospital as well but nobody pitied him; the man had sold his soul to the Devil for a few coins and was directly responsible for the deaths of Captain Wilkins, Sergeant Raff and Private Winter, plus the wounding of several Marines including Corporal Roberts, Stephenson's _aide-de-camp_, and the kidnapping of Lieutenant McGee. Who could be compassionate towards Miller for having lost his manhood at one of his victims' hands? For everyone around the base, it was nothing but poetic justice. The Sergeant's wound had loosened tongues and some of his former victims had stepped up to talk about his bullying, sexual harassment on female soldiers and racketing of new recruits. A thorough search of Miller's private quarters had led to the discovery of drugs (handmade opium pills), stolen valuable items (watches, iPods, wedding rings) and amounts of money (way more than a Sergeant's pay) confirming Miller had been on the take.

Jackson the cook, not wanting to be associated with a thief-turned-traitor, had quickly changed sides and could not say enough bad things about his former pal, much to other people's disgust. Jackson could not give a plausible reason of Miller's betrayal; he simply stated his ex-friend _"used to be a good Marine but could not stand weaklings, like that Lieutenant of the Finances Corps who was going all mushy on Captain Wilkins" _and Stephenson had been really close to punch the man on the mouth, making him swallow his cigarette butt in the process but he had better things to do than waste time with a worm! Jackson would be transferred to another base soon, some place in northern Alaska where the cook would have all the time of the world to think about his choice of friends.

Stephenson's long strides transported him to the hospital's door in no time. At first, Captain Bennett had not been overly optimistic about McGee's chances of survival but the General had roared: **"Do whatever you want, but SAVE HIM!"** for the whole base to hear. Fortunately, Captain Blythe had dismissed his colleague's opinion and had worked on the Lieutenant for hours before delivering a complete diagnosis: multiple bruises and contusions from repeated beatings, severe dehydration, fever from having swallowed polluted liquids (the Doctor had mentioned wild dog's blood), untreated concussion and shell shock. According to Blythe, it would have been enough to kill McGee days ago but obviously, the young man was tougher than he looked so there were no reasons why he should not make a full recovery.

That last comment had made Stephenson smile; unknowingly imitating Gibbs, he had thought: _"That's my boy!" _And finally, he had his chance to speak with McGee without being bothered by unwanted guests. Gibbs and David were both locked up (in the brig for the former, in a room for the latter) so the coast was clear.

"Lieutenant McGee?" asked the General to a passing nurse.

"Right this way, room 15, Sir."

Stephenson found the correct door in no time and entered the room, but the sight that greeted him made him stop on his tracks. McGee was lying as still as a statue on a hospital bed and… _he looked like death warmed over!_ A large plaster was covering his forehead; one of his eyes was swollen shut as if he had gone ten rounds against Mike Tyson; he was emaciated; his skin was still flushed from fever, making a sharp contrast with the dark bruises marring his face; his arms and hands were heavily bandaged. The lower parts of his body were covered with a sheet and blankets; Stephenson could not even start to imagine how the kid's legs looked like. Two transparent plastic bags were hanging from a pole, one containing blood and the other one filed with a clear liquid, with two IV lines coming from the bags and ending with needles stuck into McGee's arm.

For a horrible instant, Stephenson thought Captain Blythe had been overly optimistic about the young man's chances of recovery and the General seriously considered throttling the doctor for having delivered a false diagnosis. But a movement on the bed cut his murderous thoughts: McGee was waking up, alarmed by the sound of the door opening. The kid's good eye fluttered open and remained unfocused for a while, as if he could not pierce the drug-induced fog clouding his brains. Stephenson approached the bed and asked quietly:

"McGee?"

"S-Sir?" whispered Tim back.

Stephenson put his file on the bed, took a chair and sat next to the bed, his movements slow and noiseless in an effort to avoid bumping into the IV lines and to not spook the kid, who had been traumatized enough lately. But as he looked at McGee, he could see a light shining inside the green globe – even exhausted and injured, the young fed wanted to talk about what had transpired in the desert, a silent testimony of his incredible courage. Tim tried to sit up in his bed out of deference towards the General but the older man stopped him by placing a hand on top of his shoulder.

"At ease, son. You have permission to not observe the protocol."

"Thanks, Sir…"

"Do you want some water?"

Tim nodded affirmatively and Stephenson poured him some water in a glass, and then helped him drinking it since the bandages on the young man's hands made him clumsy. Once the water was swallowed, Tim let out a sigh, the cool liquid having soothed his parched throat.

"I have to admit, it's a relief to see you back amongst us, son. You've had me worried for a while with that disappearing act of yours!" added Stephenson good-naturally and Tim smiled a little bit, marveling once again at the differences between Stephenson's commanding personality and Gibbs'. The General had a way to make him feel welcomed whereas his boss would probably have barked reproaches as soon as Tim would have opened his eyes. Not that he had a lot of experience with Gibbs' reactions to the wounded, though: each time McGee had been injured in the line of duty, the Team Leader had not bothered to pay him a visit at the hospital or inquire about his health at the bullpen – no, this kind of privilege was exclusively reserved for Tony, Abby and Ziva. Whenever those three were in peril, the ex-Marine would move Heaven and Earth but when it came to Tim… Well, that was another story. Then again, why would Gibbs be concerned about the 'inferior' member of his team?

"How do you feel, McGee?"

"Like Hell, Sir," answered Tim, trying not to grimace from the pain. His whole body hurt and it felt like he had been shattered into a million pieces, before being haphazardly re-glued together.

"Yes, I imagine you do… Captain Blythe says you'll make a full recovery, though."

Tim let out a sigh of relief, and then his good eye turning into a hard, unforgiving emerald.

"What is it, McGee?"

"Miller," said Tim through clenched teeth. "He… He wanted revenge… against me for loving Aimee and then he sold me to _"Boutlir"_!"

"What do you mean?"

Tim's voice suddenly broke as he asked: "Please, Sir, before I start… Aimee… I mean, Captain Wilkins… What happened to her?"

Stephenson knew he had to answer that difficult question right away, but it was damned hard: McGee would be devastated at the news his lady-love's body had been shipped back to the US during his captivity, depriving him from the chance to say his last good-byes. The grief would probably make the kid unable to give a statement – McGee was, first and foremost, a civilian untrained to steel his mind like Marines were and, what was worse, it would give more time for the rebels to find a way to escape from their rocky prison – provided there were still survivors. But Stephenson refused to lie to the young man he considered as his son, or to entrust Captain Blythe with the chore of breaking the bad news. McGee was _**his**_ responsibility and he took it very seriously:

"Captain Wilkins has been sent back to the US. She will be posthumously awarded with the Medal of Honor and she will be inhumed at Arlington National Cemetery, along with Sergeant Raff and Private Winters. The ceremony will be held with full honors in a few days. Rest assured her sacrifice won't be in vain, you have my word for it."

Tim blinked a few times to contain his tears, but the droplets of grief were too numerous; they escaped from his eyelids and ran along his temples. Stephenson reached out and gently stroked the young man's face with the side of his thumb. _Ah, son…_

Minutes passed before Tim could speak again. Aimee, his love… Gone, forever. She would be laid to rest with a crowd of Marines in uniform but without him to console her mother, her friends and her family. There would be prayers, the firing of rifles, the US flag covering the coffin meticulously folded and presented to Mrs. Wilkins. The attendees would leave to let the gravediggers do their job; there would be flowers, mournful notes, and then… the silence. Aimee, the beautiful, smart woman who had given him her heart would become another name added to the sad list of the garden of stones' occupants.

Tim sincerely doubted he would be ever able to present his condolences to Mrs. Wilkins. Technically, he did not belonged to the Marines Corp and the ever-present secrecy surrounding The Watcher made any kind of contact with his beloved's family impossible. Tim was a shadow, a ghost lurking at ISAF under a fake identity, the second cousin of the Invisible Man; how could he show up at the Wilkins' house and introduce himself as a friend who had met Aimee in Afghanistan? Besides, he had done a lousy job protecting his love from enemy's bullets. Mrs. Wilkins would probably kick him out on the spot, cursing his name and he would have fully deserved her wrath. His only consolation was that Arlington was close to DC and he could present his respects to Aimee once his mission would be over… A broken, solitary figure carrying a bouquet of flowers to the gravestone of a magnificent woman gone too soon: that would be Tim McGee's bleak future.

"Son?" asked Stephenson. "Do you feel up to give your statement?"

Tim slowly turned his head towards the General, who thought for a moment the young man would tell him to get lost – and it would have been understandable, given the circumstances. But McGee simply nodded; he refused to let his grief overcome his duty. He _**had**_ to tell Stephenson what had happened to him after the patrol had been attacked; he owed it to Aimee, Sergeant Raff, Winter and the other ones who had been injured during the attack. He had to tell why the Dark Dove had flown from his hand to mutilate Miller.

He requested one more sip of water, which was promptly granted. And then, Tim started to narrate his story.

_Him waking up in a cave, almost naked and tied to a chair._

_The brutal interrogations by the rebels, shouting questions in a tongue he barely understood._

_The beatings._

_Another interrogation, this time by an American._

_Tim repetitively telling his name, rank and serial number._

_The enraged American shouting about knowing Tim's identity as an NCIS agent and the son of an Admiral. _

_The American claiming he had been hired by 'an old bastard' to watch over Tim._

_The American beating Tim to a pulp._

_How Tim's activities had put an end to the American's illegal activities, including the selling of glass landmines to terrorists._

_The American talking about a 'source' telling him Tim was Stephenson's boy-toy._

_The American threatening McGee with the Dark Dove._

_The American wanting the 'thingie' that had detected his glass landmines, as compensation money._

_The American admitting having hired the rebels to kidnap him._

_Beatings again, and then Farad's intervention._

_The rebels' chief calling the American _"Boutlir".

_Tim slipping out of his bounds._

_Stealing clothes and the RPG._

"Boutlir"_ on the phone, talking to his source._

_The source complaining about the death of a woman doctor he had been lusting after._

"Boutlir"_ calling the source _"Miller"_._

_The Dark Dove killing _"Boutlir".

_Shooting the RPG, entrapping the rebels inside their cave._

_The shape of the surrounding mountains, engraved in Tim's memory._

_The trek across the desert._

_Fainting on the road._

_Trent Kort's miraculous apparition._

_Reaching Kabul, ISAF, safety._

_Sergeant Miller._

_The Dark Dove._

Exhausted, Tim fell back against his pillows, worn out physically and emotionally. Stephenson, for his part, was speechless. The kid's evasion was spectacular, and the intervention of the CIA's worst rogue was almost too fantastic to be true. But what had really floored the General were the double news that A) Sergeant Miller had betrayed his country out of spite from Captain Wilkins' rejections and B) Burt Butler had learned McGee's real identity by an anonymous 'old bastard'.

Miller being a skirt-chaser was common knowledge around ISAF – as it was also common knowledge the ladies did not want to have anything to do with him. N woman in her right state of mind would have spared a glance at the bitter, anger-prone and bullying Sergeant! Stephenson had been warned by Roberts about Miller lusting after Aimee; the Corporal had surprised more than once the Sergeant spouting rubbish to the doctor, and every time she had managed to fend him off. It would have been easy to sanction Miller on the grounds of sexual harassment but Captain Wilkins had steadfastly refused to file a complaint, and Stephenson had respected her decision. She was heavily involved in providing medical care to the civilian population and some officers at headquarters resented that; even justified, a complaint would have cast a shadow on her activities, even leading to the total suppression of providing help to the locals.

The General had thought Miller would learn his lesson in the end and stop harassing a woman who knew her ways with sharp needles. But apparently, the Sergeant's resentment had run deeper: he had learned about Wilkins being involved with McGee and it had driven him mad with jealousy. The idea of losing Wilkins to a hated rival had driven the Sergeant over the edge and, being the poor loser that he was, he had resorted to treason and murder to avenge his wounded pride – a move worthy of a fool. But greed, anger or resentment made people do crazy things; to quote Shakespeare: _"__The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on"_ and now Miller faced a lugubrious future made of cells, iron bars and solid walls, not to forget severe problems to urinate… simply from being an arrogant bastard.

Still, a dreadful suspicion was growing inside Stephenson's mind: Miller had said to Butler that McGee was a homosexual – an absurd notion, considering the love the young fed had shared with Aimee Wilkins, but the General could not dismiss it as plain slander. What if the Sergeant had been persuaded in a corner of his tiny mind by McGee's so-called homosexuality? _Would it have something to do with a certain attack that had happened in the showers' room, weeks ago? Would it explain Miller's use of opium pills?_

Stephenson's grey eyes hardened at the thought and, with an effort, he put the notion in the back burner. There was the more pressing matter of this 'old bastard' Butler had mentioned during McGee's captivity. Apparently, someone in the US had blown the whistle about the young man's true identity – a silver-haired jerk with a fondness for making other people's lives Hell, according to Butler. For a moment, Stephenson thought the mercenary had been talking about Admiral McGee, who was just like this description but it did not make any sense. The Admiral was an imbecile, no questions here but even he was not stupid enough to raise the alarm about his issue being on a secret mission in Afghanistan. Besides, McGee Senior cherished his stripes and he would not risk losing them for a son he had virtually disowned for working at NCIS. Too selfish and too concerned by his own career!

The General would call a few people at the Pentagon to be sure the elder McGee had not committed this goof, but he was fairly certain of the results already. So the other silver-haired jerk could only be…

"Sir? Did I say something wrong?" asked Tim, worried by the angry expression on Stephenson's face.

"Huh? Oh no, son. I sincerely doubt you'd do something wrong to save your life. No, I was just thinking, that's all. Scary, isn't it? A General who thinks!" added Stephenson with a smirk, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Tim tried to smile to indulge the older man, but his heart was too heavy with grief to truly appreciate the joke.

"Sir… Did you warn Director Vance about me?"

"I certainly did, McGee. He was pretty relieved learning about your return and quite astonished that you've managed to do this exploit on your own! He'll hate being indebted to Kort, though – just like me – but it's a small price to pay for having you safe and sound at ISAF. Hell, I'd have signed a pact with the Devil on the spot to have you back; dealing with Kort will be a walk in the park in comparison and I am sure Director Vance thinks the same thing."

"And M-Miller?"

"Sergeant Miller is also at the hospital, his room is severely guarded and only Captain Bennett and Nurse Pritchard are allowed to treat his wound. I will question him about his motives for having betrayed his country and then he'll be court-martialed, degraded and send to jail for a long, long time. He'll probably die there and spare everyone a lot of trouble. And, before I forget, your knife has been retrieved from Miller's private parts. I'm keeping it in my office until you're recovered."

"The Watcher's gone, Sir… I destroyed the laptop before the… the rebels caught me."

"We retrieved it from the wreckage, son. It's a complete loss, but I'll understand if you want to go back to the US once you're back on your feet. I won't force you to stay here and work on the program. God knows you've been through a lot, much more than you've signed up for…"

"NO, SIR!" exclaimed Tim, startling them both.

A minute passed and then, embarrassed by his outburst, the young man added:

"I'm sorry, Sir… I-I didn't mean to be rude. I just… Please, let me stay at ISAF and build a new version of The Watcher. I owe it to Aimee, to Raff and all the others… I'll stay at the base at all times; there's no need to run field tests now, The Watcher has proven to be reliable, well, except during thunderstorms… But I'll fix that problem too… Please, Sir, I'm begging you to let me stay…"

"McGee, calm down!" said the General to the distraught young man. "Don't get yourself all worked up, it'd worsen your condition."

"I'd like to apologize, Sir… for everything."

Stephenson's grey eyes widened in shock: McGee wanted to _apologize_? But what on Earth for?

"What do you mean, son? You haven't done anything wrong, so why should you ask for forgiveness?"

"I-I wasn't prudent enough…" said Tim, swallowing with difficulty the great lump of sorrow blocking his throat. "Miller found out about Aimee and I and it had caused this catastrophe… I couldn't protect her during the attack. Aimee died because of me!"

The General remained silent just for a moment and then he said with a steel-like quality in his voice:

"**That's not true, McGee, and I forbid you to say or think otherwise. What happened in the desert is absolutely not your fault. Not. Your. Fault. Do you hear?** The only persons responsible for this mess are a mercenary, a crook Sergeant and a third party who had tipped off said mercenary about your presence in Afghanistan – that mysterious silver-haired man Butler mentioned while you were at his mercy."

"Butler?"

"Tell me, son, the man called _"Boutlir"_ by the terrorists, was it him?" asked Stephenson as he pulled a photograph from out of the file and showed it to the young man.

Tim paled instantly at the sight of the brutish-looking man staring unsmilingly at the camera's lenses: he would never forget the cruel mouth, large chin and cauliflower ears of his torturer, not even in a million years.

"Oh, God…"

"Was it him?"

"Yes, Sir…"

"The man's real name was Burt Butler, ex-military and gun for hire," said Stephenson, tucking the photo back inside the file. "Forensics identified his fingerprints on one of the glass mines you've uncovered with The Watcher's help and I got his file just before your ill-fated field test. Butler left the army to work for a security firm but got greedy on the way, and so he hanged around war zones, offering his services to the highest bidder. Bosnia-Herzegovina, Macedonia, Serbia, you name it – almost in every place where massacres of civilians have occurred. Then he went to greener pastures after Eastern Europe has been pacified, and he quickly found new customers in Afghanistan."

"He said… glass mines… I ruined his business…"

"Butler was a traitor, and he used another traitor to torture you until you'd give away a device that would have caused multiple deaths if it had fallen in the wrong hands. But you never relented; you escaped, killed your kidnappers, and walked through the desert without any equipment to neutralize a killer before he could start a murdering rampage in the courtyard. Any man in your stead would have asked to be repatriated back to the States after such an ordeal but you want to stay here, and re-built The Watcher to save more people. Good grief, son! **What are you, apart from a hero?** And you seriously think you should be blamed for this mess?"

The General soften his tone: "Butler has chosen to betray his country out of his own will and he has paid the ultimate price; same thing with Miller, who would have sold you to Butler even if you hadn't been in a relationship with Captain Wilkins. Just for that, he can hardly be called a man – and I'm not talking about the recent wound he has sustained. As for the mysterious third party, I don't care if he acted out of malice or not: whoever he is, he'll hear from me! But you are blameless for the whole matter, son. Wilkins' death is not on your head. She was an innocent victim of greed and jealousy, just like Sergeant Raff, Private Winter and you. Don't shoulder responsibilities that are not your own, McGee. The 'If' game is no good to anyone; it will twist your mind and destroy you completely… Believe me, I know."

McGee felt tears filling up his eyes again as he realized Stephenson was referring to the death of his wife and son. Doubtless the General had blamed himself over and over again for having let Christopher climb into the plane on that fateful day, until he had gradually realized there was nothing he could have done to prevent the accident, just like he had been powerless to stop the metastasis tumor from killing his wife. Stephenson knew what it was to lose loved ones: he had experienced rage, pain, despair and, above all, that overwhelming feeling of helplessness that had almost crushed him alive. But Clara and Christopher's love had given him the strength to carry on; Alexander Stephenson had refused to sully the memory of his cherished family by drowning his sorrow in booze or misplaced guilt and somehow, he knew McGee would do the same thing, given enough time.

Too much emotion made Tim to weep softly and Stephenson knew what he had to do to comfort the young man, who bore such an uncanny resemblance to his Christopher. Wordlessly, he leaned forward, took hold of the patient's hand and squeezed.

Tim looked down at their hands and, in spite of his sorrow, he squeezed back – tightly.

TBC…


	63. A bone of contention

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- A shorter chapter this week… I have to attend my best friend's play at the theater tonight!

_- Mea culpa_ is a Latin phrase meaning "Through my fault", repeated three times in the prayer of confession at the Catholic Mass. In popular language, _mea culpa_ is an admission of having made a mistake (from Wikipedia).

- The phrase _"Dead men tell no tales"_ is the title of a poem by American writer Haniel Long (1888 – 1956)

- To None: oh yes, Ziva will become an important person in Tim's life :oD

- To Guest: Stephenson will be quite explicit about Gibbs' involvement with Butler, making Gibbs realize he's not all-powerful after all.

- To Ollie260211: Tim won't leave Afghanistan before The Watcher 2.0 is done. He's way too conscientious to leave his work unfinished!

- RedDragen: I hope this new chapter will answer some of your questions.

- To Earthdragon: Gibbs is going to have it!

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><p><strong>Chapter 63: A bone of contention<strong>

A fuming General of the Marines Corps was looking at an equally fuming ex-Gunnery Sergeant and it was a very tense situation: with only a desk between the two men, there was a good chance the meeting would end up in blows and it would explain the presence of two Marines standing guard outside the office, reading to intervene at the first sounds of a scuffle.

Stephenson had ordered that Gibbs should be brought to his office for 'further questioning', but the truth was he wanted to read the NCIS man the riot act. The General had been appalled after learning Butler-the-traitor had been tipped off by 'a white-haired jerk' about McGee's presence in Afghanistan. It had not taken him long to realize WHO the jerk in question was; in fact, there were not many candidates left after he had scratched self-centered Admiral McGee off the list! But for the life of him, Stephenson could not understand WHY Gibbs had done such a stupid thing. Butler was the kind of person who would have sold his own mother for a few bucks, delivery costs not included, so it had been a matter of time before he would babble to the Taliban about an 'interesting American' in Kabul, a potential candidate for ransom money. But over the weeks, and by a sick twist of fate, said interesting American showed up in the neighborhood every time Butler's landmines or bombs were discovered, efficiently foiling terrorists' plans to torn apart innocent passer-bys. Butler had soon made the connection between an intelligent federal agent undercover at ISAF and the rising frustration of his customers, and his reptilian brains had provided him with the perfect solution: kidnapping the man responsible for his woes and beat the secrets out of him while his Taliban accomplices would provide shelter and discretion. Butler had recruited the venomous Sergeant Miller to serve his evil schemes, two cold-blooded creatures lying in wait before striking.

Gibbs, from his part, was very close to commit murder. Not only he had been prevented from seeing Tim but he had been thrown in jail, as if he had been a drunken Marine caught pissing on the General's car! It made it twice Gibbs had been in the brig since McGee had left for Afghanistan and it was two times too many. Leroy Jethro Gibbs could not be treated like last week's garbage. He was a decorated war hero who conducted NCIS' most successful team; under his iron grip, his agents had saved lives, arrested murderers, traffickers, psychopaths, uncovered conspiracies or threats against National Security, worked alongside the FBI and had avoided bomb blasts more than once. Quite a feat from a team of feds working in the lowest agency of the American government! Thus, Gibbs had not appreciated Stephenson's callousness and he was ready to tell him exactly WHERE he could shove his four stars, Marines standing outside the door be damned. Stephenson had no right to stop him from visiting Tim at the hospital. He had no right to interfere between a father and his youngest son!

The General and the Team Leader stared stonily at each other for five long minutes, and then Stephenson broke the heavy silence by asking:

"Well?"

"Well what?" snarled Gibbs back.

"You have nothing to tell me, Gibbs?"

"Apart that you're a jerk? No."

Stephenson pressed his fingertips against one another and an icy smile spread on his lips:

"That's a textbook example of the pot calling the kettle black, Gibbs."

"McGee's **my **agent, and right now he needs me after you put him through Hell!" barked Gibbs. "Vance has specifically told you to keep the kid at ISAF at all times, and then you had to go and send him in the desert with only a handful of wet-behind-the-ears recruits to escort him. It doesn't take a Nobel Prize winner to understand you wanted McGee to run field tests for that Special Project of yours – and that was the stupidest move you could have ever made. What on Earth has possessed you? You hoped running field tests would make you look good to Pentagon bigwigs? Or maybe you just wanted to add another star on your shoulders, regardless of the risks for McGee – he's not officially one of your men, after all. Well, you blew it, _General_. Your lack of surveillance has lead to McGee's kidnapping and don't you try to say otherwise. And let me tell you this: I'm taking the kid back to the US right now, and you'd better not stand on my way if you know what's good for you!"

"What would do a lot of good to me would be to kick your ass six ways to Sunday, Gibbs. You have some nerve to throw accusations at my face without even knowing the whole situation! Then again, it's your favorite choice of tactics, isn't it? You love throwing wild accusations at random to terrify people so they'd cower out of fear, and then you're free to act as you please. This kind of attitude may be successful with the suspects you interrogate at NCIS but it won't work around here, Gibbs; I've trained my men to have zero tolerance towards fools and an increasing number of them are queuing up for the privilege to punch the living daylights of you… And it could become worst if they ever learn the part you've played in the attack that killed four of their own."

"**WHAT?** What do you mean?"

"If you're through playing that ridiculous 'hard-as-nails-Boss' act of yours, you'll listen to me and save the lip – you're in deep trouble, and I'm not speaking only about that unauthorized trip to Afghanistan you took. No, your responsibility is engaged way further than that. In fact, you could very well be sacked from NCIS and face serious prison time, since it has been _**your**_ indiscretion that has caused a catastrophe."

Stephenson locked his flint stone eyes on Gibbs' sapphires and said with a tone as cold as ice:

"You see, I have just finished talking with McGee; he told me he has been tortured during his captivity, but not by the rebels. No, his tormentor was an American, a traitor to his country motivated only by greed. This man was selling weapons to the enemy, most particularly land mines designed on a WWII model. Those mines had caused many deaths amongst our ranks and this situation would have gone on for months if it hadn't been for McGee's brilliance. His input has allowed us to detect the landmines before they would explode, and thus to avoid attacks not only against Marines but also on Afghani civilians."

"So?" asked Gibbs, inwardly glowing from Tim's achievements.

"McGee's cover was perfect: everyone around the base knew him as an inoffensive accountant and only a handful of persons all sworn to secrecy knew about him being a genius developing a detecting device. But the American traitor has somehow learned about McGee's presence in Afghanistan, and it didn't take him long to understand the kid was the reason why his landmines were not as efficient as before. Every time McGee would show up, an attack would be thwarted, and it made the renegade's customers quite angry. He grew desperate and hoped to recover his losses with a _grand coup_, something that would appease his clients and re-boost his finances."

Stephenson grabbed the file he had been looking after for weeks, his unforgiving eyes fixed on Gibbs.

"Thanks to McGee, we've been able to retrieve intact landmines with the renegade's fingerprints all over the surface. We ran the prints and got a name, plus a picture. I've showed his picture to McGee and he positively identified him as his torturer."

The General pulled a photograph from out of the file and flippantly threw it on the desk for the silver-haired man to see.

"Do you recognize this man, Gibbs?"

The Team Leader glanced at the picture and his face turned as white as his hair.

**Butler.**

_**It was Butler!**_

For a long, terrible minute, Gibbs was speechless. Butler was the renegade? Butler was the one who had been selling weapons to the rebels? And he had learned about McGee because…

…_Because Gibbs had asked him to watch over the kid in the first place._

The Team Leader felt like he had been stabbed in the gut: he had told a renegade about his youngest son's – his baby – whereabouts in Afghanistan! He knew Burt Butler was a disreputable character but he would never have thought, not in a million years, that the mercenary would have enough in him to betray Gibbs! His reputation as a ruthless-when-betrayed bastard was quite vivid around NCIS, the FBI and even Trent Kort, the CIA's most slippery agent, knew better than to double-cross Leroy Jethro Gibbs. And it was not a reputation he had earned only after having started to work at NCIS; Gibbs had forged it during his years in the Marines and he damn well knew Butler was quite aware of the dangerous repercussions to his person if he ever got the idea to play an angle.

Gibbs remembered quite vividly his phone conversation with Butler when he had entrusted him with the surveillance mission: _"__I forbid you to lay a finger on this man, do you hear me? You don't touch a hair of his head, not even on a comb __**or else!**__"_. Gibbs had thought for sure that threats added with promises of extra money would have been enough to keep Butler in line, but he had been wrong! Butler had dared to ignore Gibbs' direct orders; he had kidnapped and tortured Tim, after having slaughtered Marines!

The silver-haired man was starting to feel sick in the stomach. Tim had suffered because Gibbs had not been able to respect his decision to go to Afghanistan. Truth was, he had been jealous at the thought of McGee working for somebody else – and terribly worried about the dangers his youngest would be exposed to in a war-torn country, a dangerous mix prompting him to unofficially 'recruit' Butler to act as his eyes and ears.

Well, the results were nothing to be wild about: four dead, three wounded, his son grievously wounded. The biggest goof of his career…

Stephenson had noticed Gibbs' strong reaction but he was determined to not let his unwanted guest getting off the hook easily.

"I see you have met this man before, Agent Gibbs. Care to tell where and when?"

The silver-haired man gritted his teeth and gave his best glare at the General. He was in trouble, true, but he refused to back down in front of the man who had taken Tim away.

"Gulf War. 1991. Not a friend of mine."

"According to our information, Butler had a long military past before being honorably discharged, and then he started a new career as a gun-for-hire in Eastern Europe, after several wars broke in former Sov Block countries wanting independence. But being a mercenary wasn't enough for Butler; he wanted the big bucks so he developed a lucrative arms-dealing business. After it got too hot for him in the Balkans, he went to Afghanistan and sold explosive devices he made himself, a sure way to sell untraceable weapons. Like I've said, Butler would have made a fortune here if it had not been for McGee's work. But the main question remains: _**who has told Butler about your agent?**_"

Gibbs swallowed with difficulty. He could deny being the culprit having contacted Burt Butler in the first place: even if the man would be captured by Marines, his word as a traitor and a kidnapper would not weight much against a decorated ex-Gunnery Sergeant's. And if Butler was dead, killed by his Taliban accomplices for having let their hostage escape, it would solve everything. Dead men tell no tales, to quote the old saying.

But Gibbs could not remain silent: he had many faults, God knew, but cowardice was not one of them. Ducky had told him once that pride was his main weakness and the old man had been right as rain. Gibbs had been too certain about the efficiency of his tyrannical leadership but Tim leaving for Kabul had opened his eyes and made him realize his mistakes. Refusing to acknowledge his wrongs and keeping an inflexible attitude at all times had resulted in Tim fleeing away, Tony falling in disgrace, and Abby very close to being showed the door. But he had also depreciated Tim's abilities on the field; unable to admit that the kid did not need **his** protection overseas, Gibbs had launched a hound from Hell at his son's heels and it had provoked a catastrophe and he had no one to blame it for but himself. The Team Leader had made his _mea culpa_ in a letter to Tim (the one that had been intercepted) and it appears he had to do it again, this time in front of Stephenson. It gave him a bitter taste in the mouth but Gibbs could not forfeit his honor and become a liar on top of a lousy mentor.

"Gibbs, do you have anything to tell me?"

The silver-haired man took a deep breath before answering:

"Months ago, I contacted Butler without the knowledge or approval of my superior, Director Vance. I asked Butler to watch over Tim whenever he got out of ISAF."

"You entrusted an arm dealer with a surveillance mission over one of your agents on a secret mission? _Have you gone nuts?_"

"I didn't know Butler had gone arm dealer at the service of terrorists!" exploded Gibbs. "I knew about his shadowy activities as a mercenary and, since he happened to be in the neighborhood, I thought he would be interested in earning some extra cash simply by reporting to me about how McGee was faring. The job was to spy on the kid from afar. In fact, I forbade Butler to step one foot inside ISAF or to touch one hair on McGee's head!"

"Once again, you overestimated your authority, Gibbs," said Stephenson with a glare that would have killed his interlocutor on the spot. "Did you really think a greedy double-crosser would obey orders from a man who is miles away? In your dreams, yes! Butler stored your information for a while and then, when his devices were neutralized one after another, he put two and two together and targeted McGee. But what drew you to act so stupidly, for Heaven's sakes?"

"I just wanted Tim to be safe," said Gibbs sadly.

"**He **_**was**_** safe, until your initiative put him in peril!"** shouted Stephenson. "What on Earth made you think he was in danger at ISAF? Nobody knew him and I appointed my _aide-de-camp_ as his unofficial guardian angel!"

But it was Gibbs' turn to shoot back. He had unwillingly played a part in Tim's kidnapping and he would not forgive himself as long as he lived, but he refused to carry the whole responsibility on his shoulders. Stephenson had every right to be cross at him but he should not forget his base was not the inviolable fortress he pretended it to be.

"Safe, really? Do I have to remind you about an attack against McGee that had happened right here?"

The General stiffened at those words, but Gibbs carried on:

"Yeah, I know about that, too – Vance gave me the bare bones of the matter, but simply because I sensed something was wrong right after you called my Director via MTAC on a day that wasn't Friday. He told me about McGee being attacked and how he managed to fend off his aggressor on his own, meaning he was alone at a time of danger, without your _aide-de-camp_ or anybody else to help him. It was after this attack that I decided to call Butler – the security in your base doesn't really inspire confidence, General. Besides, how did Butler know about McGee's leaving ISAF to run field tests in the desert? A kidnapping involves knowing about the future victim's comings and goings, so **who told Butler about the kid's schedule?**"

It was Stephenson's turn to blanch, and Gibbs somberly remembered Ziva comparing them to alpha male buffalos fighting against one another for the dominance of the herd. The General and the Team Leader both wanted the same thing, to be the protector of a precious 'calf' and none would relent before one of them would be downed.

"There was a… traitor among our mist," confessed the General. "One of my men tipped off Butler and his minions about McGee's leaving the base to run test fields."

"**WHO IS THAT MAN? I'LL WRAP MY HANDS AROUND HIS NECK!"** roared Gibbs.

"Sergeant Kenneth Miller. His motivations are unclear, though. According to McGee, Miller wanted revenge on him about a woman – a medical doctor, Captain Wilkins. She and McGee had a relationship but somehow, I doubt rivalry was the only grudge Miller bore against McGee."

Gibbs thought about Ziva again; he suspected the ex-Mossad had been developing feelings for Tim, which could explain her telling Tony to tone down the jokes at the bullpen and her sudden decision to fly to Afghanistan regardless of Vance's orders. She would not be pleased learning her colleague had been involved with a woman during his stay in Afghanistan…

"What does that Captain Wilkins say about it?"

"She was aboard one of the Humvees that were targeted by the rebels; she was killed in action while trying to save wounded Marines," answered Stephenson, his gaze clouding at the memory of the beautiful, dedicated woman who had paid the ultimate price for the greed and perfidy of men. "McGee overheard a phone conversation between Butler and Miller just before he escaped: apparently, Miller was upset about Captain Wilkins being killed in the attack. He was obsessed with her and he probably hoped he would achieve his goals once McGee would be out of the way."

Gibbs inwardly vowed to scalp Miller.

"But the Sergeant's plan backfired badly," added Stephenson. "Captain Wilkins wasn't supposed to be on patrol duty that day but she replaced Lieutenant Lay at the last minute. It was too late for Miller to warn his buddies and tell them to spare Wilkins – but it wouldn't have changed anything. Terrorists are not known to spare women, especially educated ones, and Butler only cared about McGee and his secret device."

"Then why are we wasting time sitting here in your office like dummies and talking our heads off?" asked an acerbic Gibbs. "Shouldn't your men be searching the desert for the terrorists and that scumbag Butler?"

"Anticipated and done, Gibbs. You see, McGee killed Butler before he escaped the rebels' lair – he's quite proficient with a knife, that boy! Then, he shot a rocket from an RPG launcher and provoked a rock slide, which entrapped his abductors in their own cavern. McGee had also been able to give me a description of the mountains surrounding the place he had been held; our topographers are currently scrutinizing their maps to find out in which region those mountains are, and I have good hopes they will succeed – they're good people with strong brains inside their skulls, just like McGee. Then we will send the helicopters to retrieve what's left of the rebels, and interrogate them until they'd give out the tiniest scrap of information in their possession. And, last but not the least, McGee has managed to reveal Miller's treachery and he had inflicted him a wound the Sergeant will never forget, all this before passing out from exhaustion. Not bad for a man who, according to your standards, is only good enough to be your team's scapegoat, eh? It looks like you've done the trip to Afghanistan for nothing, Gibbs: McGee doesn't need you, or anybody else, to get out of trouble."

Gibbs did not bother to answer. It was pointless to argue, he and Stephenson would never agree on anything about Tim. The General seemed confident in the kid's abilities but he had not worked with McGee for years; he had not known him as a stuttering, unsecure, goofing rookie who had to be monitored at all times to become one of NCIS' rising stars and the future of his federal agency. Stephenson had only known the finished product so he was hardly in position to criticize Gibbs' training skills!

"_But Tim became the man he is no thanks to you, Gibbs," _whispered the long-forgotten voice of reason inside the Team Leader's brains._ "He learned outside your training, he sharpened his skills on his own time, and managed that Special Project of his without your input. Heck, he even managed to escape on his own two feet and to subdue his captors before Stephenson's men had a chance to find him. Face it, Gibbs: your little rookie is all grown up, and your control-freak streak has done nothing but endangering him."_

The silver-haired man knew he should feel proud of Tim's accomplishments and relieved that his agent was back on the road to recovery. But he could only feel sadness; his youngest had survived without him, did that meant there was no place for Leroy Jethro Gibbs in Tim's life any longer? Especially after the kid would learn his Boss was partially to blame for the attack? Tim was a very forgiving person but the attack and its consequences could destroy the trust he had towards his Boss. Maybe Butler would have learned about McGee even without Gibbs' accidental revelation, especially with that scoundrel Miller motivated by jealousy, who could say? But it was useless to speculate over past events, it was always better to take actions: Rule 45, _"Clean up the mess you've made."_

"You'll understand I have to inform Director Vance about your presence at ISAF and your unpardonable indiscretions with Butler, Agent Gibbs."

"It's your call, General… As long as you remember to tell him about that traitorous Sergeant of yours," added a bitter Team Leader.

"You never do give up, do you?"

"Not when one of my 'kids' is concerned, General. I saved DiNozzo's bacon many times and I rescued David from Somalia, so there's no reason why I should give up on McGee simply because you have taken a shine on him."

"Your concern won't be enough to prevent Director Vance to take disciplinary actions against you! And keep in mind that the secrecy surrounding McGee's project is the only thing stopping me from having you arrested, tried and sent to jail. You've done enough ruckus with your scandal at ISAF and I don't need any more attention drawn to McGee. But I am holding you responsible for the death of my Marines, Gibbs!"

"Hold me responsible for anything you want, I don't care! The only person I'm answerable to is McGee and he's coming back to the USA with me."

"No can do, Gibbs."

"**WHAT?"**

"I offered McGee a flight back to the States once he'd be on his feet, but he adamantly refused. You see, his Special Project was destroyed during the attack and, being the conscientious man that he is, he wants to rebuild a new version as soon as the doctors give him a clean bill of health. In fact, I'm ready to bet he'll start working on his project from his hospital bed and I won't insult his dedication to duty by forcing him to get on a plane just to please his capricious Team Leader. Too many lives depend on McGee's work and if you ever try to force him to fly back to DC against his will, you'll find yourself locked up in the plane's luggage compartment like unwanted baggage, do you hear?"

Gibbs opened his mouth to protest loudly, but a knock at the door interrupted the argument.

"YES?" roared the General.

One of the Marines standing guard outside the door entered the office, visibly a bit taken aback by Stephenson's less-than-amiable greeting.

"General, so sorry to interrupt you, but we've just learned that…"

"What is it, Marine?"

"The woman… I mean, the one who was captured with that man…"

"What about her?"

"She escaped, Sir. She was held in a room but she managed to escape!"

"And what about the two Marines guarding her, didn't they notice anything?"

"They were both overpowered, Sir. One of them has a broken jaw, and the other is still unconscious as we speak. Should we sound the alarm and search the base?"

Gibbs had a hard time to refrain from laughing out loud. Stephenson had seriously thought that two Marines would be enough to prevent a knife-wielding, highly-trained, furiously-determined ex-Mossad officer from getting out of a holding room? He really had no idea who Ziva David was!

Stephenson looked floored for a minute, and then he sighed in resignation before saying: "No need to raise the alarm, Marine. I have a pretty good idea where that ferocious woman might be…"

TBC…


	64. A reunion 2

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

_- Ahava chély_, _motèke chély _and_ ahouve _mean 'My love', 'my darling' and 'beloved', respectively (from Fonebrew).

- George Orwell's quote (1903-1950) is taken from his _1984_ book (1949).

- The quote is from Baroness Karen von Blixen-Finecke (1885–1962), who wrote her books under the name Isak Dinesen.

- Wolverine, a.k.a. Logan, is a fictional character that appears in Marvel Comics (from Wikipedia).

- To RedDragen: I had a good time at my friend's play, thank you so much! Isabelle was the best actress of the lot.

- To Guest: you're very welcome :oD

- To None: And Ziva is determined to stay at her Timmy's side!

- To earthdragon: you're right, Gibbs should have been more cautious before hiring Butler but he thought his authority would be enough to make the mercenary obey his orders. Wrong!

- To McGivaShipper: I think you're going to like this new chapter! ;o)

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><p><strong>Chapter 64: A reunion 2<strong>

In spite of the medications running through his system, Tim had not been able to sleep fitfully after his talk with General Stephenson. His mind was still reeling from what had happened since he had left ISAF: the attack, his kidnapping, Butler, the trek across the desert, Kort and the Dark Dove inflicting a terrible retribution to Miller, all this was too vivid . Stephenson had assured him that everything had been taken care of so the only thing left for Tim was to rest and recover from his wounds. The adrenaline rush that had kept him alive during his ordeal was completely drained and the young man wondered if he would ever regain his strength again. In fact, he did not know if he _wanted _to feel fit again. Why should he? Aimee was gone and he had no-one left to live for.

_Aimee..._

Tears escaped from Tim's emeralds and he shifted on his hospital bed, turning on his side to face a wall so incoming people would not see him cry.

_Aimee..._

The mere thought of her made him suffer as if the Dark Dove had stabbed him. Beautiful, courageous, smart, his Well-Named, taken away from him by the petty jealousy of a slug! Miller had warned Butler about Tim leaving ISAF, wrongly thinking he could get his slimy paws on Aimee once his rival would have 'disappeared' in the desert. Only an absolute bastard would have think of such a plan, a man so driven by resentment he would ally himself with a renegade and terrorists to achieve his aims. Tim remembered Aimee kicking Miller out of the hospital, sick and tired of his pretence of injuries and repugnant attempts at flirting... he should have slaughtered the man on the spot, and to Hell with consequences! Miller was the kind of disgusting coward who enjoyed inflicting pain on others and doubtless he would have loved to teach Aimee 'a lesson' for having rebuffed his advances.

The thought of his beloved made Tim close his eyes in pain. He was not sorry for having grievously wounded Miller – the Sergeant was responsible for Aimee's death, and he deserved his fate. The female staff would probably breathe more easily at ISAF, and the newbies would openly rejoice at the news their tormentor had been definitively neutralized but it brought no consolation to McGee. His hopes and dreams had been shattered into a million pieces and he had never felt so alone in all his life. Tim was devastated, his being utterly destroyed like Skamania County after the 1980 explosion of Mount St. Helens: nothing was left but ashes and rumble. He was lost, in pain and desperate.

Earlier, Stephenson's kindness had soothed his anguish for a little while, but now Tim was alone in his room with only the beeping of the ECG machine to keep him company. He could not expect the General to remain with him – this very notion was absurd, considering the duties Stephenson had to perform all day long and same thing for the doctors and nurses, who had patients in a worse shape than him. As usual, Tim was alone with his troubles and he had to endure a suffocating sorrow that threatened to choke the life out of him.

_Oh, Aimee, Aimee!_

The ghost of his former shy, insecure self came back to his mind and whispered a cowardly thought – that he should have been wiser to keep his mouth shut on that fateful day at the mess hall so it would have spared him a lot of grief, but Tim rejected this idea with disgust: never, not even in a million years, would he be sorry for having met Aimee! In a sad, terrible, awful way, he was glad to have loved her. She had made him stronger; she had boosted his self-confidence and he had experienced the wonderful feeling of being loved for who he was - even under a fake identity – and not because he was a successful author, a federal agent or a too-nice guy that could be duped easily.

Tim had suspected a few times that Aimee _had figured out _he was more than a Finance Corps' pencil-pusher; she was military and well versed in undercover missions, but the only thing that had mattered to her had been Tim and she had gave him her heart, because she _knew _he would treasure it. Aimee had trusted him as much as he had trusted her, and the intimate moments they had shared had been fueled by _true love_.

More tears rolled on Tim's cheeks as he remembered Aimee's shining blue eyes looking at him, her fantastic smile before she kissed him, her lovely nudity... All this destroyed by fire and blood, mangled beyond recognition. It was too cruel!

Tim tried to burrow his face in his pillow as sobs wrecked his hurting frame. He wept for a long time, uncaring about passers-by seeing him – and if crying made him a lesser man, so be it. He could not give a damn about others' opinion and besides, he knew too well what people thought about him: weakling, incapable, stuttering, egghead and gullible, so a few tears won't make any difference. Stephenson had told him earlier he was a hero but Tim did not believe it. Heroes saved other people while he had only managed to save himself. The General probably said that to console him but it did not last long, and Tim knew it would be a matter of time before everyone at NCIS would learn about the failure of his mission. He would go home to DC with a professional status back square one, in the lines of 'loser', 'hopeless', 'pariah' – and, on top of everything, a bleeding heart torn to shreds.

Too caught up in his misery, Tim did not notice the presence of a person sitting at his bedside, or a hand gently squeezing his shoulder. Only when paper tissues were presented to him did he realize he was not alone in his room, but he did not bother to turn back. The angel of mercy was probably a nurse or an orderly who had overheard him crying and was trying to calm him so the other patients would not be upset.

Tim took the tissues and dried his face from annoying salty tracks, in an effort to regain a bit of dignity; then he crumpled the paper and stashed it under his pillow before whispering over the big lump of sorrow blocking his throat:

"Thank you. You may go now; I'm certain you have more important patients to look after."

There was a few seconds of silence, and then a woman's voice answered:

"There's no one more important than you, Tim McGee, _ahava chély_**."**

The young man's eyes widened in shock as he instantly recognized the voice. Slowly he turned over on his bed, inch after inch, as if he was afraid his ears had played a trick on him or his brains had been somehow damaged by Butler's blows and he had imagined someone in his room. But his senses had not deceived him; there was indeed a person at his bedside, a dark-haired woman with an elf-like face who looked just like…

"Ziva?"

The ex-Mossad smiled in relief: Tim had recognized her! She had been shocked to the core seeing him wounded and barely conscious on a stretcher a few days ago and it was quite a happy sight to see those beautiful emeralds open, regardless of the tears shining at the brink of his eyelids or the multiple cuts and bruises marring his face.

"Ziva, is… is that you? I'm not dreaming?"

"It's me, Tim! Ziva David in person; it's a joy to see you awake, I was so worried!"

McGee squeezed Ziva's hand, wanting to make sure he was not talking to a figment of his imagination. Ziva squeezed back and smiled gently at her special man; during her years in Israel, she had dealt more than once with traumatized people and she knew Tim would need reassurance and comfort to overcome his ordeal. But she was resolute in helping him in any way she knew: she would be his bodyguard, his physiotherapy trainer, his psychologist, his advisor… Once Tim would make a full recovery, she would tell him about her feelings – and Gibbs' rule no. 12 could go to flames (or to blazes?) for all she cared. As for Tony and Abby, they would be wise to stand out of her way; Ziva had not forgotten Tony's unfunny jokes and pranks, or Abby putting Tim under the yoke of her jealousy. As far as Ziva was concerned, these two had forfeited the elementary rules of friendship too often and it was high time to slam down the brakes on their stupid behavior.

"Ziva… Oh, I-I can't believe it… You're here, in Afghanistan?"

"Oh yes I am, Tim! Vance told us about your kidnapping and I barely took the time to grab my stuff before hopping in the first plane available. I have sworn to demolish this country bits by bits until I'd find you, but you pulled the rug from under my feet by escaping on your own. You've been so courageous, _motèke chély_. A man like you would have done wonders at Mossad!"

Overwhelmed, Tim reached out and pulled Ziva in a hug, which was promptly returned. He started to cry again but the Israeli woman just tightened her embrace, delicately carting her fingers in Tim's brown-blond hair in order to avoid possible lesions on his scalp. However, her dark eyes got even more somber at the thought of her precious friend having endured torture from his captors and they would pay for this. The terrorists did not know it yet but they were living on borrowed time; Ziva David vowed to make them regret having breathed around McGee by pulverizing the two hundred and six bones of their bodies (from the smallest to the biggest) and she had never broken an oath in her life.

Tim clung to the young woman like a shipwrecked man in the middle of a tempest would do with a raft. In his emotional turmoil, Ziva's presence was a beacon of light shining at the horizon, the promise of a little hope under the hurricane of his grief. Ziva had crossed the oceans to find him; she had dropped everything she had built in America to save her colleague. She had deliberately endangered her life in a country plagued by wars, regardless of consequences for her own safety simply because… he was her friend. The depths of Ziva's solidarity were immeasurable and he would never, ever be able to pay back the enormous debt he owned her!

It took a long time before Tim could calm down, but Ziva let him cry on her shoulder and kept silent. McGee needed a release and she would rather give away her best set of knives in a garage sale than insult his courage by giving him a lecture in the lines of: _'Man up, crying is good for wusses! What are you, a sissy? Bawling like a baby in need of his mother? You look ridiculous."_ This kind of attitude was good for Tony and all the other supposed 'real men', but the Israeli woman remembered having read in a book by George Orwell that said: _"__In the face of pain there are no heroes"_ and Ziva knew from first-hand experience that George Orwell had been right as rainfall. Pretending to be invulnerable to pain was a plain lie and a big fat waste of her time!

Then, another quote jumped inside Ziva's mind: _"The cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears and the sea". _Here again, the author had been absolutely right and it would be the perfect solution to take care of her wounded friend. McGee had sweated during his captivity and subsequent escape; it was time for tears to regain the control of his emotions. Later, once they would be back to the States, Ziva would take him to the seaside and the ocean would cleanse the young man's soul of all the horrors he had endured in Afghanistan.

After a long moment, Tim's tears stopped and Ziva offered a fresh batch of tissues – she seemed to have a packet of them – and helped her friend in drying his face again. Once he was calmer, she settled him back in his bed and presented him a glass of water, which was gratefully accepted. Then, Tim said with a forlorn voice:

"I'm sorry, Ziva. I shouldn't have fallen apart…"

"**You stop right here, Timothy McGee!"** shot the ex-Mossad back, her eyes as dark as twin lakes under a moonless night sky. "Crying is not a weakness. I've seen a lot of so-called tough guys who have crumbled like houses of cards after having endured a lot less than you so that silly macho attitude does not impress me at all. In fact, I would have been worried if you hadn't cry, knowing that big heart of yours and the empathy you show towards other people. You don't cry for the things that had happened to you but for your comrades-in-arms who have been killed or wounded in the attack; there is absolutely no shame in doing so and don't let anyone, I repeat **anyone**, tell you otherwise!"

Ziva's no-nonsense tone made Tim remember the firm words of wisdom Stephenson had given him during his visit. Neither the General nor Ziva were the kind of person who would say things without meaning them, and it gave the young man a little hope; maybe, if he would listen to Stephenson and Ziva long enough, he would be able to forgive himself in the future for the whole mess… But the events were too fresh in his mind to even start the healing process. Instead, Tim grabbed Ziva's hand and squeezed it lightly before saying:

"It's… It's so nice of you to have come to my rescue, Ziva. I'm indebted to you…"

"Oh no, you're not. I'm the one who has a debt towards you – don't you remember Somalia, and all the pain you went through to free me from Salim's clutches? And I've paid only half of my debt: I came here, yes, but you escaped without my help! Besides, even if you hadn't come to Somalia, I'd have come anyway; you're part of our team and we never leave a man or a woman behind!"

"Is Gibbs here?"

"Er, yes… He'll probably come soon, but I can't tell you exactly when," said Ziva, not wanting to tell about their Team Leader being locked up in jail.

"And Tony?"

The question took Ziva a bit aback; why would McGee ask about the Senior Field Agent, demoted to Junior Field Agent in the wake of his review board session?

"No, he's not here. Why are you asking?"

Tim fiddled with the border of his hospital-issued blanket before answering, a bit hesitantly:

"Well, I thought… I thought he'd come with you, considering… I mean, all things considering…"

"Things? What things?"

"Er… I mean, you and he… You're a couple, aren't you? Tony told me, so I thought you'd come to ISAF together."

Ziva's beautiful face paled as she suddenly remembered Tony lying to Tim via MTAC about a relationship that had never existed in the first place. If Sam Elliott the com tech had not blown the whistle to Jimmy and Ducky, she would never have learned about this treachery and the morgue would still be in one piece. But the terrible news of Tim's kidnapping, followed by the hasty departure to Kabul with Gibbs, their subsequent arrest by Marines and the heated explanation in General Stephenson's office had made her forget completely about this stupid action from the Senior Field Agent. But of course, Tim was still thinking she and Tony were an item! Well, it was high time to settle the record right; McGee would probably be crushed by Tony's malice towards him, but she simply could not let him think she was DiNozzo's girlfriend!

"Tim…"

"It-It's okay, Ziva, I understand… I-I told Tony about wishing you both well and I meant it."

"Tim, please, listen. Tony lied to you. He's not my boyfriend."

"WHAT?"

"I really cannot understand what had prompted him to say such a stupid thing to you, especially while you're away in a dangerous mission! Sam, the MTAC tech told Jimmy about this lie; Jimmy told Ducky, who in turn summoned Gibbs and Tony in the morgue for a meeting to give DiNozzo a chance to explain himself. I wasn't invited at this meeting and neither was Abby, but I knew something was up so I sneaked my way downstairs and overheard the whole conversation."

"You… You and Tony are not a couple?" asked a floored Tim.

"No, and with this disgusting lie he has served you, he doesn't have a chance in Hell to ever become my boyfriend, not in this life or the other! Gibbs isn't the only one around who hates lies, you know. I was so furious hearing about it that I… Well, I kind of trashed Ducky's morgue from throwing things around, medical stuff that was not meant to be used as projectiles."

"You WHAT?"

"Please be reassured, I have a good aim and nobody got hurt – well, apart from Tony, but he deserved it! He wasn't even capable to give us a good reason for his behavior, either: he just said he wanted to tease you, but no one bought this explanation. Jimmy even stood up against Tony, saying he was an idiot and even Gibbs didn't manage to make him back down. Jimmy was really angry and Ducky seemed very disappointed by Tony's attitude; that does not happen often, considering the amount of kindness our favorite MEs show towards us!"

"_Still waters run deep… Good ol' Jimmy and Ducky!"_ thought Tim. But he felt torn by Ziva's revelation: even if he was relieved that the ex-Mossad was not Tony's girlfriend (he honestly thought she deserved someone better), he could not help but feel angry at himself, too.

Once more, once again, he had been fooled by Tony's lies and the Senior Agent must have laughed his head off remembering the crestfallen look on McGee's face displayed on an MTAC screen. Doubtless Tony have told everyone around the bullpen about the 'good joke' he had played on his colleague, and how it would teach McGee a lesson for having dared to leave his team for a career-boost mission. Even thousands of miles apart, DiNozzo would always find a way to ridicule Tim. God, when would he ever learn that Tony simply could not be trusted, apart during murder investigations? When would he ever develop the reflex to never accept Tony's words at face value? Tim sincerely doubted Tony had ever considered the consequences of his stupidity; not only had it destroyed the remnants of the confidence McGee had for the Senior Agent – and goodness knew there were not many left – but Tim had another reason to be mad at Tony: the lie had incited him to accept Aimee's love, since he had thought having lost all his chances with Ziva.

Tim had carried a secret torch for the ex-Mossad officer for years but had thought himself being too shy, too clumsy and too overweight to be a potential candidate for the tough-as-nail woman – not to mention Abby's jealousy, a bomb ready to explode anytime he looked at another girl. It was partly the reason why Tim had started dieting, learned knife-throwing and had acquired more and more experience on the field: he had done all this not only to be more satisfied with his image, but he had also harvested a tiny hope to be 'interesting enough' for Ziva. But later, she had been involved with other guys, one of them being the infamous Ray and Tim had resigned himself in being only Ziva's friend, which was already a great honor: being respected by a woman with far more war experience than him was quite a feat from a computer geek. Later, Tim had been contacted by General Stephenson to work on The Watcher and the enormous amount of work required building the program, plus the secrecy surrounding the project, had put Tim's sentiments in the background. Ziva considered him like a brother, as attested what she had engraved on the Dark Dove's sheath, and he had come to terms with this fact.

Meeting Aimee had felt like the sun rising at long last in the darkness of Tim's love life, chasing away the shadows of self-doubt and despair that had plagued the young man for as long as he could remember. Aimee, with her sincere and sweet love, had proven to Tim that he was indeed a good man and that he was not 'doomed' to follow obediently the boots of his elders and betters for the rest of his career at NCIS. She had also showed him that, despite the poisonous comments from Abby and other inconsiderate girlfriends, he was not a lousy lover unable to satisfy a woman. Aimee and he had touched the stars together while hiding in the hospital's basement, the archives' room, the garage… and even once in his pocket-sized private quarters! Aimee had laughed that day, saying they were literally 'coming out of the closet'. The following act of love had been so intense they had thought never to be able to walk again…

"Tim, I am so sorry," said Ziva, worried at the sight of new tears shining at the brim of McGee's eyes. "It must be pretty discouraging to have a colleague that lies to you all the time…"

"N-No, it's not Tony," said Tim, hating his traitorous tears. He would not have Ziva wrongly thinking that he was upset by Tony's lie. What was another treachery amongst a hundred other ones? Besides, after what had happened, the Senior Agent's pettiness was as unnoticeable as a fly in the fog.

"I was thinking about… someone."

"A friend?"

"Yes, Captain Wilkins… a doctor here at ISAF."

"You need his help?"

"I'm talking about a _female_ doctor, Ziva; her name is Aimee and she's very dear to me."

Tim dabbed at his eyes with the tissues and, by doing so, he missed Ziva's shocked expression. The young woman had blanched at the news:_Tim was in love? _

A horrid mixture of jealousy, pain and anger stabbed Ziva in the chest with the sharpness of one of her blades. Mislead by Tony, her _ahouve_ had found consolation with somebody else. **She had come too late to tell Tim about her feelings, all her chances were gone!**

_Damn you, Tony! Damn you!_

Then again, why would Tim have not found a girlfriend during his time in Afghanistan? At ISAF, Tim was not confronted all day long with a Goth crybaby, a dangerous ex-Mossad officer or women dumb enough to believe Tony's slanders about his homosexuality. McGee could attract the attention of any woman with his handsomeness, his clever mind and his good manners – and apparently, it was what had happened with Doctor Wilkins, leaving a desolated Ziva in the rust (dust?). Unlike DiNozzo, Tim had never been interested in one-night stands; whenever he had been involved with a woman, he had had marriage plans in mind. Captain Wilkins had won the jackpot and the only thing left for Ziva was to watch Tim's happiness from afar. If she was lucky, she would be invited for an occasional dinner and play 'Aunt Ziva' to a bunch of little McGees crawling on the rug in front of the fireplace. A meager consolation for a broken heart!

Swallowing her pride and her pain with difficulty, the Israeli woman managed to keep her voice calm as she said:

"I see. Well, I'm very happy for you, Tim. Do you want me to try and find her?"

"She's dead, Ziva," answered McGee, too lost in his grief to notice Ziva's discomfort. "Aimee was with me during the attack… The enemy fired an RPG warhead at our Humvee and she was killed by bits of shrapnel embedded in her throat. She died… in front of me!"

This time, it was shame that washed over Ziva. Captain Wilkins was dead? She had been killed by terrorists before McGee's eyes? Oh, the horror Tim must have felt, similar to the one when her younger sister Tali had been murdered in a Hamas bombing! It was something the ex-Mossad did not wish to her worst enemy, and it was one of her best friends who had experienced it. And she, Ziva David, the ruthless ninja girl of NCIS, had been jealous (albeit briefly) of a dead woman who had given happiness to Tim?

Filled with self-reproaches, Ziva gave herself the mother of all mental head-slaps before placing her hand on Tim's forehead, minding the bandage he sported on his right eyebrow and said:

"I'm sorry, _ahouve_. I'm sorrier beyond words for the loss of your friend! If I could bring her back to you, I'd do it."

"Oh, Ziva! You're wonderful, the gem of friends," replied Tim, smiling for the first time he had woken up at the hospital. He brought her hand to his lips and briefly kissed her fingertips, gentleman-like.

The Israeli woman did not feel worthy of the compliment but she decided to let it slide. McGee was in a fragile state of mind and hearing a confession of love from her part would just add to his confusion, especially after having witnessed the death of his Aimee and the killing of other Marines. Ziva would have to wait for Tim to recover from his grief but in the meantime, she would not let McGee out of her sight, not for a second; she would protect him from enemies of all sides; she would follow him like his shadow; she would cut to ribbons the first one who would attempt to harm him! She would…

At this exact moment, the door of room 15 opened, letting in a severe-looking Stephenson and two Marines, all of them obviously angry by the presence of an unauthorized person near McGee's hospital bed.

"I knew you'd be here, Agent David," said the General. "Now, do you have a valid reason for having knocked down two of my men before paying a visit to McGee against my direct orders?"

Tim wanted to plead Ziva's cause, but the ex-Mossad beat him to it.

"I'm here because I am McGee's _friend_ and no-one stands on my way when it comes to him AND YOU'RE NOT THE ONLY ONE AROUND WHO IS CONCERNED BY HIS SAFETY, WITH ALL DUE RESPECT, GENERAL!" thundered the young woman.

The Marines seemed to be a bit unnerved by Ziva's vehemence, but Stephenson merely growled:

"Oh? And how do you plan to defend your friend all by yourself, Agent David?"

Ziva had a smile as cold as one of her knives and then she made an elegant movement with her wrists: fourthin blades appeared between the fingers of both her hands, looking as sharp and dangerous as syringes' needles, just like she had done it in the past while confronting Admiral McGee at the bullpen. With this sudden display of her favorite weapons in her hands, Ziva made a feminine but nonetheless lethal version of The Wolverine, the Canadian comic-book mutant famous for his claws and bad temper.

Stephenson let out a sigh; this woman would be even more difficult to deal with than Gibbs and he had not thought it was humanely possible! He always had the option to call for reinforcements but David was strong, skilled and very angry. Stephenson did not want more damage to be inflicted to his men and David was obviously not determined to not leave the premises quietly. On the other hand, he would not have his authority questioned in his base, either!

Then, salvation came in the form of a shaky hand raised by McGee.

"Permission to speak, Sir?"

"Granted."

"Perhaps the three of us could come to an understanding?"

TBC…


	65. A delusion

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- A shorter chapter posted earlier than usual, I'm going to Paris for the weekend! ;oD

_- Four Weddings and a Funeral_ (1994) is a British romantic comedy film starring Hugh Grant and Andie MacDowell.

_- Columbo_ is an American detective mystery TV series running from 1968 to 2003, starring Peter Falk (1927-2011).

_- Prison Break_ is an American TV series (2005-2009), starring Wentworth Miller and Dominic Purcell.

- Details about PTSD come from Wikipedia.

- To Jeika: thank you for your kind comments! I hope you're feeling better.

- To None: you guessed right, it's better to let Ziva do as she pleases, for everybody's safety!

- To Earthdragon: Wolverine is my favorite comic-book character and Hugh Jackman did a great job portraying him in the movies XD

- To RedDragen: thank you! I'm glad you liked the Tim-Ziva reunion scene.

- To lizes: Tim doesn't know his luck for the moment, but Ziva's steadfast support will help him realize.

* * *

><p><em>At NCIS…<em>

Leon Vance glanced at the three men and the woman he had summoned at his office. There were only two seats facing his desk and Ducky, given his age, had been silently granted the one on the left side, with Jimmy standing right behind him. Abby had called for the gallantry she was expected to receive as a woman before sitting heavily on the second chair, much to Tony's annoyance, since he thought that being a Senior Field Agent (unjustly but temporarily demoted) granted him the right to sit instead of having to stay on his feet like a wet-behind-the-ears probationer. But from the looks of it, Abby was not going to move an inch from her seat and Tony knew better than to argue. He was not exactly on speaking terms with the Lab Rat and Vance's office was not the appropriate place for another bout of temper tantrum – unless Tony wanted to commit career suicide, but it was not the case.

Vance could not help but note that his office had been divided into two camps: the pro-McGee, with Doctor Mallard and recently-graduated Doctor Palmer on one side, and the anti-McGee with DiNozzo and Sciuto on the other. If David had been here, she would have stand with the MEs while Gibbs would have been 'requested' by his favorites, so the score would have been 3 all at the end of the match!

Vance's dark eyes turned a shade darker at the souvenir of Gibbs and David in Afghanistan, a blatant disregard of his orders but what was wrong with a little infraction? Vance was 'only' the Director of NCIS, after all, and Gibbs had the reputation to only follow his rules. Well, the Director would give his subordinate a piece of his mind after said subordinate would be dragged by the scruff of his neck all the way from Kabul to DC, courtesy of General Stephenson.

But it was not the time for Vance to dwell upon what he would do to Gibbs and David once they would walk through NCIS' doors – in the lines of strangling them both for having made a mockery of his authority. For the first time in many weeks, he had some good news to tell Gibbs' team and he was not going to let the small matter of an enormous disobedience to spoil this moment.

Taking a deep breath, he looked at the four persons and said:

"I am pleased to announce you that Agent McGee has been found two days ago. He's currently staying at ISAF's hospital and he's getting the best medical care. I'm sorry I haven't announced this earlier but I wanted to be certain Agent McGee would make a complete recovery before telling you."

Ducky let out a loud sigh and sagged against the leather cushion of his chair, relieved beyond belief by the good news concerning his surrogate nephew. Timothy had been rescued, he was alive and he was safe in a warm, clean and heavily-guarded hospital! Ducky had been besides himself with worry about the kidnapping and he had aged ten years within a few weeks, something that had not boded well with his already weakened body – but it was over now: Timothy was saved and it was all what mattered!

The elderly ME felt a hand gently landing on his shoulder but he did not need to turn about to know it was Jimmy expressing his silent but steadfast support. Ducky gently patted the young man's hand, grateful for Jimmy's loyalty. No doubts the new ME was as glad as him learning that Timothy had been saved; soon he would take a plane back to the United States and all would be well in the world. Ducky silently vowed to use all his medical knowledge to help Timothy physically recover from his ordeal, but also to provide him with an attentive ear whenever McGee would want some moral support: PTSD was not uncommon for kidnap victims and its most common symptoms were disturbing flashbacks, avoiding or repressing memories of the events, plus high levels of anxiety leading to incapacitation. Ducky had witnessed PTSD cases many times and he had also experienced it himself, especially after that nasty piece of business with _'Mr. Death'_ so he would not let Timothy deal with this medical condition on his own. Ducky would sit by Timothy's bedside and guard his dreams for the rest of his life, if needed.

Jimmy was also making plans concerning McGee's return in DC. Firstly, he would meet Tim at the airport and give him the biggest hug he had received in his life. Then he would invite him over for dinner: Breena was the best cook in the world and she would put some meat on Tim's bones – as it was notorious army food was not exactly _haute cuisine_. They would talk about the future: Tim's boosted career at NCIS, the future new volume of 'Deep Six' based on his adventures in Afghanistan, Jimmy and Breena's upcoming wedding...

The young man smiled while imagining the astonished look on McGee's face, after he would ask him to be his best man! Tim would be floored but Jimmy could not imagine trusting anyone else for this primordial role on the happiest day of his life: Ducky, his mentor, would be seated next to Mr. and Mrs. Palmer in the church's aisle, watching with emotion their little duckling becoming a swan. And Tony was immediately written out: he would scare away the audience with his loudmouth, and then lose the rings on purpose to make a live remake of the 'Four weddings and a funeral' movie, just to make a joke. But Jimmy would be too nervous to appreciate this kind of humor and it would inevitably ends up with blows – not to forget Breena force-feeding Tony her bouquet before strangling him with her garter. The Senior Agent could not stand the comparison with Hugh Grant!

Chuckling lightly at the image of his bride-to-be murdering the Senior Agent at the altar, the Assistant ME turned his eyes towards the opposite team... And his smile died on his lips. Tony looked as if he was taking the news of McGee's rescue like a personal offence whereas Abby was smiling from ear to ear and that was quite unnerving. The Lab Rat's expressions had varied from depressed to downright aggressive for weeks, but happiness had been inexistent for Abby, especially after Gibbs' sudden departure for LA – leaving her without a shoulder to cry on. For an instant, Jimmy thought that she had gone to better feelings and was genuinely relieved that McGee had been saved, but one look at her eyes promptly corrected him: they were hard and full of venom, which made a harsh contrast with the triumphant expression on her face.

However, Vance was not duped by her angelic expression and he asked in his most severe tone:

"What's so funny, Miss Sciuto?"

"Funny? Oh, but there's nothing funny, Sir. I'm just delighted that Timmy has been saved!"

"Really?" said a dubious Director, taking out a toothpick from a large box on his desk.

"Oh yes, Sir. It's wonderful to think Timmy will be amongst us pretty soon. Because it is what's going to happen, isn't it? He'll fly back to DC any moment and we'll throw a huge 'Welcome home' party in his honor, right?"

"And what makes you think _**Agent McGee**_ will be at NCIS so quickly, Miss Sciuto?"

The abrupt tone made Abby lost her composure for a few seconds; she looked around and saw the men in the room were looking at her rather suspiciously. Had she been too obvious in her enthusiasm? Thinking fast, Abby put on her best 'little girl Goth' mask on and replied as sweet as Halloween candy:

"But, Sir… I thought that, after such a terrible ordeal, Timmy would be allowed to come back to the States. He's going to need the support of his family and his friends to overcome this harrowing experience. I mean, he has been captured by terrorists and he must have been very afraid for his life, just before the Marines came and saved him. He's probably traumatized as I speak so he needs to be home with us. We'll all be here to help him, we're his teammates and we know him better than anyone else and…"

"_**Agent McGee**_ has adamantly refused to go home before his mission would be completed so I'm afraid he won't be at NCIS anytime soon," said the Director, deliberately emphasizing Tim's full title while chomping on the toothpick with a vengeance. What was wrong with Sciuto, anyway? Why did she always have to use that baby nickname? If she thought it a mean to humiliate McGee, then she was overdue for a wake-up call: the only person being ridiculous was her, not him.

"What?" asked an incredulous Abby. Tim-the-Traitor was not coming back? Then, it only could mean that… But it would ruin her plans!

"Please, Sir…"

"Please what, Miss Sciuto?"

"Sir… I mean, Sir, you cannot let Timmy do this! It's unreasonable! We need him; we need to see him with our own eyes and make sure he's okay. Besides, he's probably in shock and not thinking properly – not surprising, this kidnapping must have shaken him to the core. He cannot imagine being able to stay in Afghanistan after what had happened to him! Timmy's too sensitive, too insecure, too frail, too…"

"Abigail, will you be quiet?" exclaimed an outraged Ducky. She was talking about Timothy as if he were a helpless four-year-old child!

"I'm telling the truth, Duck-man! Timmy's not a soldier; he's a Federal Agent and he should never have agreed to this mission in the first place. He belongs here with us at NCIS, not in a war zone. And, I… I need him! We all do! I'm very grateful towards the Marines who have saved him, and to their General, but they have to let him go now…"

Vance had a lopsided smile, making Jimmy think there was more to the story than the Director had previously said.

"Oh dear, I think I have forgotten a little detail…" said Vance in his best 'Columbo' voice while scratching his eyebrow (every time he imitated Peter Falk, Jackie laughed so hard her sides would ache).

But within seconds, the Director's hand fell on his desk and his tone turned into steel as he added:

"… Agent McGee has never been rescued by Marines; **he escaped the Taliban on his own, killed a traitor, entrapped his captors in their cave in the process, and crossed the desert on foot before reaching Kabul**. The Marines discovered him at ISAF's courtyard, covered with blood and wounds but standing on his feet. **And before he was taken to the hospital, Agent McGee has been able to neutralize a mole who had been feeding information to the Taliban about our troops**."

This time, it was Tony who gasped out loud: _Probie had escaped the terrorists by himself? _McCan'tFight had done a Michael Scofield and turned the Afghani desert into a 'Prison Break' scene? He killed a traitor, uncovered another one, and then locked up his kidnappers in a mountain's cavern? No, that was impossible! Who Vance was trying to fool? McGee had never been a good fighter and a few months spent exercising at ISAF were not enough to change him into an able warrior. Abby had said so earlier: frail, insecure, sensitive, hardly the stuff a real man like Anthony DiNozzo Jr. was made! Vance was just humoring his audience, or maybe he exaggerated Probie's accomplishments in Afghanistan to make them regret their lack of enthusiasm about their colleague leaving the country to work on a supposed important thingamajig.

But Tony knew better: the timeline of Probie's rescue coincided more or less with Gibbs and Ziva's approximate arrival in Afghanistan. It did not take a rocket scientist to understand that the two AWOL NCIS Agents had played a major part in this sudden turn of situation. Probie went missing, the Marines could not find him, and then, right after the Boss' arrival, Probie was back at ISAF. And Vance wanted to make them believe McGee had escaped on his own? When Hell would freeze over, yeah!

"So as you can see, _**Agent McGee**_ is a far cry from the fragile, shy, unable to take a decision man that you constantly describe him. He's a determined Federal Agent who knows where his duties are, namely in Afghanistan to finish working on a project and nothing can distract him from reaching his goals, not even a kidnapping on his person."

Ducky had a small smile; apparently, his handbook had been put in good use. He had been certain Timothy would learn his notes by heart and he had remembered them during his captivity, allowing the young man to not only escape, but to survive a long trip across the desert without any kind of equipment. Ducky was so proud of his surrogate nephew!

Tony, on the other hand, had not listened to the last part of Vance's speech; the very idea of Gibbs and Ziva rescuing Probie made him clench his jaw. He could easily picture in his mind the operation commando in the mountains: Ziva quietly but efficiently silencing the terrorists forever with her blades with Gibbs watching her from a distance with his sniper rifle, ready to take down any fool who would have the stupid idea to attack the ex-Mossad from behind. And then Ziva had probably found McGee bound and gagged, trussed up like a Christmas turkey and scared out of his mind, hiding in the cave's darkest corner. One swift of a blade must have freed the idiot and McGee would have been escorted to ISAF, immensely grateful but also deeply embarrassed for having had to be saved by the team members he had snubbed before leaving for a mission he had never been cut for in the first place. Gibbs and Ziva would be showered with praise upon their return to NCIS... Leaving none for Tony, and that was so unfair! He should never have been excluded of participating to the rescue of a teammate; **HE **was Senior Field Agent and future Team Leader, **HE **was Gibbs' adopted son. Therefore, **HE **should have gone to Afghanistan with Gibbs to save that klutz McGee, not Ziva!

And on top of everything, McFluke refused to come back before his mission was over, meaning Gibbs would stay with his 'new son' until the hush-hush project would be completed. It could take months, and Tony was not looking forward to remain alone at the bullpen filing up useless cold cases. His probationary period was almost over and he had been sickeningly good, like a teacher's pet in a classroom. He had done the paperwork, attended those boring-as-Hell workshops, avoided talking to the ladies and even refused to answer snide comments in the break room. The review board goonies would have no other choices than to re-instate him in his functions, and then Tony would give to all the NCIS employees a glimpse of what he was capable of. With his talent, his brilliance and his charisma, he would become the one and only Very Special Agent in a snap!

But he needed Gibbs for that: without his mentor, Tony would not be put in charge of murder investigations, especially when lacking an assassin and a computer geek within their ranks. As frustrating as it was to admit it, he was not a Team Leader yet and Vance would refuse to grant him this title based on his merits – there were shooting range tests, rules and procedures exams, admission interviews... Everything Tony hated because he usually flunked quizzes. He had hoped McGee would have helped him with the academic stuff (a little coercion went a long way) while Gibbs would have trained him in how to convince examiners (preferably by glaring at them). So, with this rescuing-but-not-returning business, the Boss would be stuck in Afghanistan at McGee's pleasure while Tony would champ at the bit. Unfair!

"You seem upset, Agent DiNozzo. Can you tell us why?" asked Vance's sharp voice, efficiently cutting Tony's train of thoughts.

"What, me upset? No Sir, I'm not," said Tony, plastering his best 'cool as a cucumber' smile on his face.

"It's not the impression you're giving, DiNozzo."

Tony's smile faltered but before he could find an answer, Abby beat him to it.

"We're all happy Timmy has managed to escape his captors' clutches, aren't we, Tony? It's quite a feat! I'd have never thought he... Oh, never mind. He's saved and that's the most important. And I am certain he will finish his mission in no time; he must be pretty impatient to see us again, as we are! It will be just like the time Ziva has been found in Somalia – oh, the happiness! We were absolutely delirious learning she was alive and safe, and it's the same thing for Timmy. I'm gonna organize him a party he'll never forget. It will be written in the NCIS annals with gold letters!"

"Miss Sciuto..."

"Timmy has accomplished so much, it should be only justice that he'd be shipped home early! He deserves it and I'm certain the man in charge will give him his blessings if we ask politely!"

"Miss Sciuto..."

"He must come back soon. Timmy has to wrap up whatever he'd been working on and then pack his bags to leave. He's done enough for his country; why should he stay longer, anyway? It's not as if he has nice memories of Afghanistan."

"Miss Sciuto..."

"Oh, I am certain he'll be in the States in no time. Sir, would you tell him that we all think about him and he must hurry? Whoever said absence makes the heart grow founder was absolutely out of his mind! Timmy must miss us like crazy and..."

"**Miss Sciuto, will you kindly shut up?" **roared Vance, running out of patience.

Abby jumped on her seat but carried on talking: "Please Sir, I just wanna say..."

"But you're making my ears bleed, Miss Sciuto!"

"Sir! I just wanted…"

"What you want is of no importance, Miss Sciuto. The only thing that matters is Agent McGee and his project, and both of them are at ISAF where they belong. Now that you are reassured, I'm ordering you to keep an absolute silence about Agent McGee. The other agents at NCIS didn't know about his kidnapping and I want it to remain this way. The news about him escaping and back in Kabul must remain confined within this office, am I clear?"

"Absolutely, Director Vance," said Ducky.

"Of course, Sir," echoed Jimmy.

"Right, Sir," grumbled Tony.

"Very well, Sir, but…"

"You're dismissed."

The four persons left the office – with a severe frown from Vance, stopping Abby from pursuing her speech – and went to their respective duties: Jimmy and Ducky took the elevator to go to the morgue while Tony walked down the stairs to escort Abby to her workplace. They walked together in silence and, once they reached the lab, the woman typed her PIN code on the electronic lock at all speed for the glass doors to slide open.

"Okay, Tony, I'm at my lab so you can stop playing overprotective bodyguard and get lost in the bullpen!" said Abby with a touch of irritation.

"Oh no, I'm not before I get some answers. What's going on inside that wild brain of yours?"

"What do you mean?"

"Don't play innocent, will you? I observed you during our meeting at Vance's office; once you've learned about Probie's safe return, you looked like a cat that had gotten the cream."

"Oh, yeah? Well, I also observed _**you**_ and you looked like a giraffe that had swallowed a lamppost!"

"That's not true!"

"Ah! Everybody noticed, even Jimmy the Gremlin and God knows he's not the most observant person in the building. But I knew what was going inside your self-centered brains, Very Special Agent DiNozzo: you were furious learning McGee would stay in Afghanistan, because it means Gibbs and Ziva are going to stay there as well."

Tony blanched at the Lab Rat's words: she _knew_ about the Boss and the ninja girl being in Afghanistan? She had learned about their illegal mission and that Vance had vowed to sack them once they would be back in DC? But how did it happen? Officially, Gibbs and Ziva were in LA and Vance had ordered Tony to be silent about this or he would be fired as well, and the Senior Agent had kept his mouth tightly shut since he was not in the Director's good books for the moment. So whoever the whistleblower was, it sure was not him!

"But… How do you know…"

"I'm not the absolute idiot that McGee seems to believe me to be, DiNozzo. Unlike you, I know how to use my brains: McGee gets kidnapped and then, lo and behold, Gibbs and Ziva disappear as well for a mysterious mission that no one knows about, even Ducky? For your information, I've never believed that LA line you fed me – well, maybe I believed it for a few seconds but I realized quickly there was something fishy going on. Rule 7: _"Always be specific when you lie"_ and you are not noted for paying attention to details, Tony; your vague description of a mission in California was not very unconvincing. Besides, I haven't forgotten Somalia and the three of you rushing to Ziva's aid without bothering to tell Vance or anyone else, including me, about your secret plans – there were too many similarities in both cases to be just a coincidence, and Rule 39 states that_ "There is no such a thing as coincidence"_!"

"You follow Gibbs' rules way too much."

"But I'm right, am I? Gibbs and Ziva went to Afghanistan to find McGee!"

"Yes, that's right – but you'd better keep this information a secret, otherwise Vance will have my head and I'm kind of attached to it" said Tony with a sigh. "The Director fed us a line, though, when we were in his office: he said Probie escaped on his own but I don't believe it for a second. McGee is unable to get of trouble by himself and then, all of a sudden, he turns into a real-life Rambo? Vance was pulling my leg, end of story. If it had been **me**, however, I would have slaughtered the terrorists before they'd even get a chance to lay a hand on me and…"

"Whatever, DiNozzo! I don't care if McGee has been rescued by Gibbs, the Marines, Navy SEALs or even by Santa Claus. The only thing important in Vance's load of waffle is that Gibbs will come back to DC soon to help me."

"Eh? What do you mean?"

"Oh, do come down from your navel-planet, Tony! Didn't you hear? _McGee has been found so Gibbs has no further business to pursue in Afghanistan. _He's going to take the next flight home and then, he'll persuade Peterson to retract the complaint he filed against me. That dirty denunciator is as good as dead. My job is saved. It's wonderful!" exclaimed Abby with a triumphant smile on her face, the one she had a hard time to repress in the Director's office.

"I think you're the one with a hearing problem, Abby. Vance told us that McGee won't leave Kabul before his project is completed, meaning Gibbs will remain with him as long as it takes."

"Like Hell he will! McGee doesn't want to have anything to do with us so why should Gibbs stay around?"

Tony refrained from answering. He could not tell Abby that Gibbs was considering Probie as his new adopted son and therefore, he would refuse to fly to the USA without him; since McGee wanted to stay in Afghanistan out of brown-nosing, it could only mean both men would be stuck in a war zone for weeks. Abby's woes would not be enough for the Team Leader to fly to DC at all speed and scare the living daylights of Richard Peterson – compromising Tony's chances to reinstate his reputation at NCIS.

"You're too optimistic, Abby. Gibbs won't be back before a long time and when he does, he'll be in for a rough time with Vance."

"And why, pray tell? Vance didn't say anything about you, Gibbs and Tim going to Somalia."

"It was different."

"Different, how?"

"Vance is pretty nervous about the cloak-and-dagger surrounding Probie and he didn't appreciate Boss' initiative, saying – and I quote – that _"__Gibbs' reckless action has endangered McGee's chances to be found by our troops, but it could also compromise the secret project your colleague has worked on for months"_. It was not the same situation with Ziva: she was not involved in the elaboration of a useless gizmo and she was held hostage by low-lifers, so Vance couldn't blame us for getting her out of their clutches. Right now, the Director is scared out of his mind that the Boss' presence in Afghanistan might raise questions in the lines of: _"What in the world is an NCIS Agent doing in a war zone"_, drawing some unwanted attention on McGee and the stuff he's working on."

"More's the reason for Gibbs to come home, and quickly!"

"**He doesn't want to**, can't you understand? Gibbs won't move from Kabul until Probie is finished with his project."

"But Gibbs' presence was not authorized by Vance, so his being in Afghanistan is illegal! The commander of ISAF can order him to leave, or even force Gibbs to take a plane."

"I'd like to see him try! Gibbs isn't the man to be forced to do anything – not to forget Ziva and her blades always on the ready."

Abby seemed disconcerted for a little while, but then she shook her head in an attempt to disperse Tony's negative arguments. She could not believe the Team Leader would linger in Afghanistan just to please McGee, not with her in dire peril of losing her job. No, Gibbs would be back soon; she had realized this fact after learning about McGee during the meeting. It was the reason why she had acted so pleased: not because Tim had been saved – she could no longer care a thing about him, after the way he had treated her – but because her silver-haired fox would deliver her from Peterson and his forked tongue. He would rue the day he had filed a complaint against her; he would bitterly regret having taken off her cherished decorations at the lab; Abby would even make Peterson pay dearly for having locked Bert the stuffed hippo in a locker!

"No. You're wrong. Gibbs will deal with Peterson as soon as he'll step back inside the building, and Vance won't be able to do anything about it. It's Gibbs we're talking about, the best agent of NCIS. He can do anything."

Tony repressed the urge to roll his eyes.

TBC…


	66. A provocation

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

_- In petto_ is Italian for "deep down inside oneself".

- The **Get Out of Jail Free** card is from the Monopoly board game, edited by Parker Brothers.

- The Rock of Gibraltar is a monolithic limestone promontory and is 426 meters (1,398 ft.) high (from Wikipedia).

- To None: you guessed right! Abby and Tony are still unwilling to open their eyes and they'll get quite a wake-up call soon.

- To Leila: Hi! I had a great time in Paris ;o) There's a high possibility Ziva will ask to remain by Tim's side, but will Stephenson allow it?

- To RedDragen: thank you very much for your nice comments. I think Tony will realize his wrongs, but will it be before or after Vance shows him the door?

- To earthdragon: Gibbs certainly goofed with Butler, and something tell me Tim won't want to have him around after learning what had happened.

- To Delia Cerrano: well, this chapter deals with Stephenson and Miller, but I hope you'll like it as well.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 66: A provocation<strong>

_The next day at ISAF…_

General Stephenson was walking down the corridors of the base's hospital but this time he was not alone and on his way to visit McGee. It had been three days since the young man's miraculous return at ISAF and Stephenson could not wait any longer to interrogate this lousy piece of rubbish called Miller for an explanation.

Until this day, the doctors had forbidden any kind of interview based on the severe wounding their patient had endured. McGee's dark knife had certainly done some damage and doctors had worked around the clock to try and salvage the Sergeant's manhood. But according to their last prognosis, things were not looking too good for Miller: the bleeding had been stopped and, a transfusion later, it was safe to say the patient was saved. About his virility, well… That was another story. Strangely, it had taken a lot of time for the medical staff to find the severed member in the Sergeant's blood-soaked pants; and, after it had finally been found, it was already contaminated (from not having been stashed in a bag full of ice and kept inside a refrigerator) so sewing it back to place was out of the question for the moment. Stephenson could not help but think this lack of care and concern towards the mutilated manhood had something to do with the death of Captain Wilkins, an esteemed doctor, from Sergeant Miller's actions since the news of his complicity with a traitor had spread through the base like wildfire.

As commander of ISAF, Stephenson had given strict orders that Miller should receive the best care but even he could not control what was happening in the operating theatre. His medical expertise was close to zero and it was not up to him to tell Captains Rogerson, Ferro, Blythe and Ringwald how to do their jobs, even if there was a strong suspicion of a lack of enthusiasm towards nursing the Sergeant back to health. In fact, thought the General _in petto_, it would probably not grieve anyone around the base if Miller's virility was never re-installed – especially Agent David!

Stephenson had a twisted smile at the recollection of the young woman guarding her fallen colleague with a loyalty most married couples would envy. She and the General had come to an agreement – thanks to Tim's quick thinking – in an effort to keep peace around ISAF: David would be allowed to remain in McGee's side day and night and she, in return, had promised to stop pounding Marines. Stephenson had dealt with the doctors' protests about this blatant violation of hospital procedures, but the results had been worth it: Tim seemed to make good progress recovering from his ordeal with the young woman around, whose patience and comprehension soothed his anguished mind about Wilkins' death.

The General looked up and saw the hospital room's door marked **'1'** with two Marines on duty flanking it, and his grey eyes turned as hard as flint stones. It was Miller's room and the bastard would have a lot to answer: why he targeted Tim, what was his business with Butler and if the Sergeant was no up for a conversation, Stephenson would personally bury the much-talked-about severed virility in an anthill, in the middle of the desert!

The Marines stood to attention and saluted the General, who answered with a nod of the head before pushing open the door of room number one. As on cue, Miller was lying in bed; the lower part of his body was covered but the thick bandages covering his crotch made a tell-tale bump beneath the sheets. Stephenson briefly glanced at the damaged zone but this tiny action made Miller furious and he hissed like an enraged snake:

"Go ahead and laugh, _General_!"

"I fail to see anything funny in this situation, _Sergeant_," answered Stephenson curtly while taking a seat. He deliberately chose a chair far from Miller's bed, in case the traitor would have another one of his murdering ideas. The Sergeant was wounded but twice as dangerous, like a scorpion in a circle of flames and stabbing at everything on sight.

Miller, from his part, was resolved in getting out of this mess at all costs and he was ready to play his trump card – the one that would efficiently shut up Stephenson. After the pain, the shock and the horror of the mutilation, the Sergeant had thought long and hard about his future, in spite of the furious lectures he had received from Nurse Pritchard, and he had come to the conclusion that a direct hit at Stephenson was the only way for him to avoid the court martial. If the General wanted to salvage his reputation, he would listen very attentively to Kenneth Miller's reasonable demands and make arrangements to have him repatriate with full honors. Then, he would wait until McGee returned to the States and make him pay dearly for the wound he had inflicted him; he had thought of many ways that in comparison, medieval tortures would look like a walk in the park!

"So what brings you around, if it's not to laugh at my expenses, _General_?" asked a sneering Miller. "Go ahead, shoot! It's not like you don't want to do it, anyway."

"You're truly pathetic, Miller. Do you really thing that 'tough-guy' act is going to get you out of trouble? In case you've forgotten, you're facing very serious charges: conspiracy to commit murder, alliance with the enemy, aiding a traitor in killing Marines. That's _**treason**_, Sergeant, and you will be court-martialed for this – you'll probably be locked up for life, or even sent to Guantanamo. So you'd better cooperate if you want to get the tiniest chance of getting a bit of leniency!"

"Is that supposed to scare me?"

"I don't make idle threats, Sergeant, so unless you've developed a hearing problem I suggest you get your act together and start explaining why you betrayed your country for a handful of banknotes."

"I didn't betray anything! I was doing my job and minding my own business before your Golden Boy from Finance Corps arrived and ruined everything."

"Doing your job? Yeah, right," answered a sarcastic senior officer. "You see, after the incident in the courtyard, there was a general lack of sympathy towards you and your plight: in fact, the unanimous sentiment has been: _"Serves Miller right!"_. The men are feeling a lot better knowing you're at the hospital, facing charges that will spell the end of your military career. They have been queuing in front of my office – including that buddy of yours, Jackson – to make statements about your racketeering, black-market and how you made the new recruits' life a living Hell."

"It was to toughen them up! They're just a bunch of ninnies that would fall apart at the shadow of a Taliban if I weren't here to make them walk straight. So yeah, I 'confiscated' their belongings – but it was only until they could prove they were true Marines!" said Miller, thinking fast about the cash and valuables he had hidden in his trunk. "And what black market? All I did was providing the men with goods they couldn't get from the supply sergeant. As for those snotty good-for-nothings rookies, they can go home and cry if they cannot stand the pressure. Wimps will never make good Marines!"

"Oh, really? And since did I allow harassment on this base? I've made my views pretty clear about this subject: no bullying allowed any time and yet, in spite of my direct orders, you kept on carrying that despotic number on the newbies. I've witnessed it several times and let's not forget your constant persecution of the female staff: some of them also came to my office to tell me about your unwanted attentions. I was _this close_," said Stephenson while making a very small space between his thumb and index finger, "to kick you out of ISAF like unwanted garbage, and right in front of our allies."

"BITCHES, THE WHOLE LOT OF THEM! Those women asked for it! They wanna play soldiers, then they haveta be soldiers and obey orders. Besides, I've never left a woman unsatisfied – I gave them a taste of what a real man is!"

Stephenson's lips curled in disgust; Miller was definitively a revolting piece of refuse, and he bitterly regretted not having dealt with the Sergeant months ago.

"Delude yourself all you want in being a real man and a real soldier, but it won't help your case, Miller. With those testimonies and the proofs of your collusion with Butler, you'll be court-martialed and thrown in jail for the rest of your life."

"Threaten me all you want, I don't care! I know things, _General_, and the JAGs will stare at me in all their glorious imbecility, with their jaws hitting the floor once I'll tell them about _**your**_ dirty little secret. Then it will be your turn to be court-martialed before being kicked out of the Corps in disgrace – heck, maybe you will be publicly degraded in front of the Marines you love so much, one in particular!"

An astonished Stephenson could not decide if Miller was completely out of his mind or simply delusional. What dirty little secret? There was nothing shameful in his life and Stephenson always had a spotless reputation: he never had a mistress, loathed gambling, was disgusted by drugs and his anti-bullying policy had earned him the respect of his men - something that infuriated his enemies at the Pentagon to no ends, mostly rival Generals who were jealous of his successes. What in the world could Miller have dug up and made him think it would make things difficult for the General?

Stephenson's confusion made him look as if he was upset by something, misleading Miller who sniggered openly.

"So, you've decided to be more reasonable, eh, General?"

"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh, I think you do," shot the Sergeant back with a nasty smirk on his face. "Just keep in mind that I know about you so if you don't want me to kiss-and-tell in front of the court martial, you'd better find a way to get me transferred to a base somewhere in the US where I'll get the best medical care for the wound I've sustained while fighting for our country."

"You're talking like someone who has fallen from a tree on the head, Miller!"

"And then, you will arrange things so I'd get an honorable discharge on medical grounds with a healthy pension and not to forget a commendation thrown in for good measure – I wouldn't mind earning a medal, as well. And you'd better destroy all the proofs linking me to Butler if you know what's good for you."

"Of all the crazy things... Do you really think I would sweep your blatant act of treason under the carpet, simply for whatever will-o'-the-wisp idea that had crossed your stupid mind?"

"I'M NOT STUPID! AND IF YOU VALUE YOUR CAREER, YOU'D BETTER TREAT ME WITH RESPECT!" shouted the rat from his bed.

"Respect towards a traitor? Not in my goddamned life!"

"Oh, you will be damned, General – long and hard, considering your tastes. I can make your life here at ISAF a living Hell, and even worse in DC if I want to."

"But what in the world are you talking about?" asked Stephenson, reaching the limits of his patience.

Miller licked his lips in an obscene fashion, grinned like a pimp and said:

"I know about you've been up to with McGee."

Stephenson felt his blood turning into ice inside his veins: _Miller knew about The Watcher?_ The Sergeant had somehow learned about Tim's magical program, and wanted to reveal its existence to the world? He could not allow Miller to do this! The Watcher was paramount for the safety of the Marines but also for the Afghani civilian population and its existence could not be divulged, not for the time being anyway. The laptop had been destroyed during the Taliban's attack and time was needed to build the 2.0 version: months of efforts could not be compromised by the waggling tongue of a traitor, not after Tim had risked life and limbs to elaborate it. If Miller wanted to play whistleblower, then Stephenson would have to take drastic actions to protect the brilliant federal agent, in the lines of silencing the Sergeant...

Then, logic calmed down Stephenson's initial reaction of panic. The Watcher was a hush-hush project for certain but there was absolutely nothing reprehensible in it – and yet, the leech smiling in the hospital bed looked like he had found the Holy Grail of all gossips. What had Miller said earlier, that he knew about a _"dirty little secret"_? And, judging from the expression on the Sergeant's face, it could only be something related with sex so it could certainly not be related to The Watcher. But what could it be that Miller thought it big enough to grant him a Get-Out-of-Jail-Free card?

_Could it be McGee's relationship with Wilkins?_ Even so, it was not explosive news: a romance in a military base was no rare feat. Captain Wilkins had been single, so was Tim and thus, there was no grounds for a little blackmail about adultery. And Wilkins' heroic death had granted her a high status amongst the Marines: Miller would earn nothing trying to sully her reputation and it would certainly not help his case.

_Could Miller have discovered McGee's true identity? _That was doubtful; the Sergeant had referred to Chris – no, Tim – as a Golden Boy from Finances, so McGee's cover was still good. The kid had done a great job keeping a low profile during his stay at ISAF; the men involved in The Watcher's field runs had all been sworn to secrecy; and Wilkins would have not say a word about her lover to Miller. So, what was that all about?

"Out with it, Miller: what do you know?"

"Feeling a bit uncomfortable, General?" snickered Miller. "Fearing for your Golden Boy?"

"I said, _out with it!_ Don't make me use force."

"You wouldn't dare. I know who you truly are, General: a self-righteous goody-goody fool, a stickler to the rules with a protect-the-weak-and-innocent facade, but in truth a hypocrite hiding your vice!"

"My _**what**_?"

"You've been doing the horizontal minuet with McGee! And don't bother denying it, General; I've got proofs!"

A stunned silence answered the Sergeant's vehemence, as Stephenson had a hard time processing the accusations that had been thrown at his face. _**Miller pretended that his senior officer was in a romantic relationship with Tim?!**_

For a moment, the General could not decide either to laugh or cry. The accusation was so ludicrous that only a man with a mind twisted to the maximum could have elaborated it! But the memories of Captain Wilkins, Sergeant Raff and the others who had been killed or wounded in the attack were too vivid in his mind to find anything funny in Miller's statement. In fact, Stephenson was starting to feel sick at the thought the mole had allied himself with Butler simply out of homophobia...

"You... You are completely out of your mind, Miller. I am not in a relationship with McGee!"

"Uh-huh, and I have a bridge in Brooklyn I can sell you for two dollars. You think I'm blind? Those night sessions you've had with McGee didn't escape my attention, General: hours and hours in your office with that fag and you're gonna tell me it was only to talk about contracts with the local builders? With that boot-licker Roberts standing guard by your door to make sure you would not be disturbed during your meetings? Ha! You should have been more careful, General: people who have swallowed that crying sob story about you grieving your wife forever is going to be real disappointed learning you've found consolation in McGee's arms."

"Enough!"

"Not to forget Roberts providing for all McGee's needs: want something for your comfort, Sir? Want to be driven around in a Humvee, Sir? You'd like to have video equipment and champagne, Sir? Why, of course, Sir. You only have to ask, Sir! After all, I'm Stephenson's flunky and it's my job to make sure you're pampered enough to give an outstanding performance in the General's office, with all due discretion of course."

"This is insanity!"

"Oh, is it? Then how do you explain your sudden interest for a fag, General?"

"McGee isn't a homosexual!"

"Yeah, right! With that great face of his? That weakling should have had the word "_molly_" tattooed on his forehead on the sorry day of his birth – and him carrying a knife everywhere ain't enough to make him a real man."

Stephenson rose from out of his chair with a murderous expression on his face; his eyes were burning in barely-suppressed rage and Miller suddenly felt a bit nervous: what if he had played his best cards too rashly? Was the General thinking about attacking him to preserve the boy-toy's reputation? Then, he would be in for a big surprise; Kenneth Miller would never roll on his back and play dead for anyone, especially for a senior officer doing the beast with two backs with a gigolo.

"Tell me, Sergeant, how's your leg?"

A bit taken aback by the question, Miller answered nervously: "It's not my leg that has been wounded by McGee."

"I beg to differ! The doctors mentioned a gash on your leg that has been apparently been stitched by an amateur, but I didn't pay attention to it since the injury you've sustained in the courtyard has monopolized the conversations around the base recently. But it was not the first time McGee has gotten the upper hand on you, isn't it? You've been wounded by his knife before; to be precise,_ in the showers' room, the night you've attacked McGee!"_

Miller made a grimace as if he had been given a bottle of vinegar to drink.

"It was you, then! I've had my suspicions before but I had trouble imagining a Marine would act so cowardly. You're the one who has attacked McGee while he was showering. You bastard, you've ambushed him from behind!"

"He deserved it! The little fag, I owned him one for having threatened to cut off my balls on the day of his arrival. I wanted to give him a lesson!"

"In the dark, while he was alone and at his most vulnerable, when you were armed and wearing body armor? Plus a balaclava so he wouldn't be able to identify you? You're nothing more than a cockroach, Miller. By God, I'll destroy you!"

"Promises, promises. I wanted to have a little fun with the queer and no one can blame me for this, so don't waste my time with empty threats. Your boy-toy got lucky and escaped his rightful punishment, and then he had to go and make a big seduction number on Wilkins who fell for it hook, line and sinker. Acey-deucey gigolo!"

"Wilkins? Oh God, no, Miller. Tell me you didn't side with Butler for a woman who wouldn't have given you the time of day."

"SHE WAS MINE, GODDAMIT!" roared the Sergeant, his face pale from anger and despair. "That stupid uppity cow, always thinking she deserved someone better than me – she didn't even realize McGee was interested in her simply to look 'normal' but I've got gay-dar and I can sniff the scum ten miles away. But Wilkins had to go and dare to choose McGee over me so I knew I had to teach her a lesson, too."

"By having her killed by the Taliban?"

"No! You're not going to pin that one on me. Butler wanted McGee for whatever useless program he had on his laptop – a thingy Butler held responsible for his weapons misfiring. Crazy as a rat in the loo, that one!"

"And you sold McGee to Butler," said Stephenson with the utmost contempt.

"He was blackmailing me! Because of McGee, I had to take opium pills to calm the pain in my leg and Butler knew about me purchasing the stuff in Kabul. He cornered me in a café and gave me no other choice than helping him in snatching McGee in exchange of opium pills; otherwise he would have killed me on the spot. So I thought, why the Hell not? Why not make the world a better place by getting rid of a faggot?"

"You phoned Butler to tell him when McGee's convoy left ISAF. You betrayed your brothers-in-arms for a petty rivalry over a woman who didn't want anything to do with you."

"Wilkins was **mine**," said Miller with a tone close to madness. "She had no rights to let a lying gigolo sniff at her skirts; it suited me perfectly that Butler wanted to make McGee disappear in a cavern filled with flea-infested rebels. I'd have showed Wilkins the errors of her ways but it wasn't my fault she died: that dunce Lieutenant Lay caught malaria, and she volunteered to replace him at the last minute to indulge with the fag on the Humvee's back seat. I learned about this too late to warn Butler. Wilkins was a bitch in heat, and it's her fault she got cut to pieces by the Taliban. She should have stayed at the base, and spread her legs for me!"

Stephenson felt like pulling at his own hair out of sheer frustration. The depths of Miller's wickedness and self-delusion could figure in the Guinness World Records book, under the label _"Most disgusting person alive"_. The Sergeant was persuaded that McGee was Stephenson's lover; that his affair with Aimee Wilkins had only been a subterfuge to hide his homosexuality; that he had to be punished for this deception. But the attack in the shower's room had backfired badly and Miller had found another mean, less dangerous for him, to get rid of the competition: simply by selling McGee and the other Marines to a traitor selling weapons to the enemy. Three good men had been killed, Wilkins had been collateral damage and Tim had suffered greatly at the hands of his captors, before managing to escape and giving a terrible retribution to Miller.

"As you can see, I know everything about you and McGee. You should have been more careful, General: more than one bigwig has been kicked out of the Army for a romp between the sheets with a prostitute – and it won't bear well for you if the Pentagon ever learns about you having a taste for rutting young males. Don't ask, don't tell policy, my ass! This time, I have the upper hand but I'm not greedy: just send me back to the US, have my dick sew back to place and arrange things so I can leave the Marines with a good pension and I'll forget about you and McGee. If you want to play Bad General, then go ahead and drag me in front of the court-martial but be warned that I'll tell them everything: you bringing your stallion to ISAF, granting him a fake Lieutenant rank and showering him with privileges all paid by the Marines' Corps for a few blow jobs in your office. Giving your gigolo the cover of a pencil-pusher from Finances was a good idea, though – McGee knew how to push his pencil up your ass, hmm?"

Stephenson wanted nothing but punch the malevolent man's face until it would look like squashed tomatoes, and yet his granite-like features betrayed nothing of his inner torment. Years of commandeering had taught him to face any kind of revolting situations and he refused to dishonor himself by hitting a wounded man, even if he was presently in the presence of the worst kind of individual he had ever met.

Miller was no Marine; he was anger and bile given form, with dysfunctional brains and an ego matching the Rock of Gibraltar in size. He would stop at nothing to get what he wanted, including extortion and conspiracy to commit murder on his fellow soldiers, and he did not even show an ounce of remorse as he was persuaded to be within his rights. Every person that had stood on his way had to be eliminated one way or the other, since it was a capital offense to oppose Kenneth Miller! Aimee Wilkins had refused his slimy proposals at the cost of her life; Tim had defended himself in the showers' room and Miller had sold him to terrorists; Roberts and the others had fought valiantly to protect McGee and they had paid a heavy price for their courage. The Watcher had been destroyed during the attack, compromising the future safety of the Marines and the civilian population…

And now, the mole wanted to save his skin by spreading gossips about Stephenson and McGee, wrongly thinking his erroneous conclusions would be enough to spare him from being court-martialed. Big mistake!

The General walked towards the hospital room's door, making Miller yelp out in alarm:

"HEY! You can't go now! We're not finished about the terms of our agreement!"

"No agreement."

"What?"

Stephenson placed his hand on the doorknob and turned over very slowly, in a deliberate move to make the mutilated slug lying on the bed feel very ill at ease.

"I've said _"No agreement"_, Miller. I don't make deals with pathological liars. You don't have the shadow of a proof against me because there are none. **McGee is not gay and he's not my gigolo!** Every one of the so-called proofs you pretend to have are existing only in your twisted imagination, fueled by hate towards McGee and jealousy against Wilkins. But you're also a coward and you got scared of McGee after he stabbed you in the showers' room, thus you signed a pact with the Devil to reach your goal – regardless of how many Marines would die to satisfy your sick sense of revenge. And you truly thought threatening me with embarrassing revelations would get you out of trouble? You bloody fool! No one is going to listen to a word you say; I have my reputation to protect me and McGee is quite safe from your slander so go ahead and sputter poison until your tongue dries out, I don't care. Who will take into account the accusations of a traitor, who had the number of a turncoat arm dealer on his cell phone? Not to forget McGee's testimony about Butler calling you and the fact you tried to kill him in the courtyard to prevent from telling about your treachery."

"But…"

"No buts, Miller. You have betrayed your country and the Marines out of a stupid assumption you've made about McGee, and you got so blinded by your pride that it has never occurred to you that you might be wrong, not for a minute. Well, you've got yourself into a real mess, the kind that can be solved only with heavy prison time."

"Cannot have me judged before I'm fully recovered from my wounding!" exclaimed the Sergeant.

"You're living on borrowed time, that's all. Once the doctors will kick you out of this hospital, you'll be waiting for your trial from inside a prison cell in DC and a JAG will be appointed as your lawyer – but don't get your hopes too high, you have very little chances to ever see the light of day again. You'll remain in a 6 by 8 feet concrete box for the rest of your life but don't despair: at least you'll still have the company of your cherished navel!"

The room's door slammed behind Stephenson, and it sounded like a death's toll.

TBC...


	67. An act of contrition

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- An angry Tim in this chapter… You'd better watch out! :oP

- The 1949 movie_ She Wore a Yellow Ribbon_ was directed by John Ford (1894-1973), starring John Wayne (1907-1979).

-The song _I Am a Rock_ was written by Paul Simon (b. 1941) in 1965. It was included in the Simon and Garfunkel (b. 1941) _Sounds of Silence_, which was released on 1966.

- To RedDragen: Ziva will play a bigger role in the next chapters ;o)

- To Animelvr: the story is already long so Miller's trial will be skipped – be assured he'll get his just desserts!

- To None: I think Ziva will present some sharp arguments to convince Stephenson in letting her stay with Tim xD

- To Guest: Miller is too gravely wounded to even get out of bed, so his revenge plans will be ruined before they could even start.

- To McGivaShipper: thank you very much for the precision about the Don't Ask Don't Tell policy. I'd like the story to be accurate even if I have no experience at all about US military laws.

- To Earthdragon: Miller genuinely though threatening Stephenson with accusations of homosexuality would be enough to get him out of trouble, but he was wrong… since he had nothing to blackmail with in the first place!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 67: An act of contrition<strong>

_The day after, at ISAF…_

"**You did what?"**

Leroy Jethro Gibbs was not a man easily frightened.

But, as he was facing a pair of furious green eyes, Gibbs was actually feeling fear.

And it was crushing him alive; Gibbs had been looking forward this reunion with his youngest son for months and he wanted nothing more than to reach out and hug the kid, but the glare he was receiving was making him quake in his boots like a rookie!

Gibbs had sure come a long way to reach this goal: firstly, he had to admit his wrongs towards the kid to Ducky, Vance and the rest of his team but most importantly to himself and this last point had not been easy since introspection was not his _forte_. Then, the news of Tim's kidnapping had kicked Gibbs' paternal instincts into overdrive and the next thing he knew, he was aboard a plane heading East regardless of Vance's strict orders and the possible repercussions on his career. On top of everything, he and Ziva had been captured and brought in front of General Stephenson, a four-star who had obviously taken a shine to McGee and had abused of his authority to stop them from seeing their teammate.

There had been angry words and blows, ending with a five-day stay in a cell but it had not been the worst part of it. No, it had been when Gibbs had been forced to apologize to Stephenson, in order to gain authorization to see McGee! It had left quite a bitter taste in the Team Leader's mouth and he was not certain he would ever recover from such an ordeal. Gibbs loathed apologies since he had watched the _She wore a yellow ribbon _movie as a kid. John Wayne uttered the words _"Never apologize, Mister, it's a sign of weakness"_ after Harry Carey Jr. tried to make amends about a picnic with Joanne Dru, and the young Jethro had been enthralled by this bit of wisdom coming from the Duke. Since then, he had steadfastly refused to admit his guilt in anything, much to everyone's annoyance.

This attitude had built his reputation as an arrogant jerk and he had been fine with it. In fact, he liked to think of himself as a fearless man of action who was answerable to no one on Earth. He had absolute confidence in his decisions, since they were always the best. He had never acknowledged his wrongs, thanks to his world-famous Rule no. 6. And he hardly encountered failure, as he was a paragon of professionalism who knew every aspect of his job through and through, making him the text-book Agent of NCIS.

He was a rock, an island – or even better, a fortress on which his enemies would break their teeth on the walls. Only a few carefully chosen persons had been allowed to enter: his team, his father, Mike Franks and Tobias Fornell. His adored Shannon and Kelly would have been included too, if it had not been for Pedro Hernandez but at the time, Gibbs had not finished building his inner fortress – a fatal negligence that had killed his girls. Just like for Kate Todd, who had paid a high price for a momentary lack of attention: three seconds had been enough for a killer to cut short the life of the hard-as-nail woman and Gibbs had never forgiven himself for his oversight.

Since the day of Kate' death, Gibbs had vowed to never lose another one of his team members, his 'kids' as he called them. The walls' fortress had been strengthened by his intransigence, relentless demands, anger at every misstep and absence of gratitude. Gibbs behaved like the Boss from Hell but he had been certain he was doing the right thing for his kids: the harder he was, the better they were in facing any kind of threat. Tony, Tim, Ziva and Abby were safe inside those infallible walls, cemented by his set of Rules and too high to let them be influenced by the outside world; not that there was anything worth looking, anyway: just pain, destruction and death, so the kids were better off living in the closed world of his fortress.

But Tim McGee had never accepted those walls; for years, he had unsuccessfully tried to convince Gibbs that the outside world was not as dangerous as he pretended. He had offered his education, his love for the written word and his natural-born goodness to make his inflexible Boss see further than Marine experience. But after years of disappointments, fed up by Gibbs' authoritarianism and his co-workers' snickers, Tim had secretly dug a tunnel and escaped the fortress, with a General waiting for him on the other side.

Tim's departure had angered Gibbs to no point, but his absence had caused the first cracks to appear on the walls of his inner fortress. The added problems of Abby's suspension, Tony's demotion to Junior Agent and the growing resentment of the other NCIS agents (plus lectures from Penny and Sarah McGee) had widened the fissures over the weeks, imperiling the whole construction. The silver-haired man had hoped rescuing McGee from the Taliban would close the slits under the cement of reconciliation but, considering the wrath displayed on the kid's face, it was not to happen anytime soon and it ripped Gibbs' heart apart!

For this reunion with McGee, he had asked Ziva to leave them alone and she had complied at once - even though she had sensed there would be some tension between the two men, so she remained outside the hospital room's door, ready to intervene at the first signs of a violent conflict. Gibbs swallowed over the annoying lump that had suddenly grown inside his throat, and managed to croak out:

"McGee..."

"I repeat: _**you did what?**_" asked the young man again, glaring at his Team Leader with all the force of his emerald-colored gaze. His hand was clutching at the sheets in an attempt to stop himself from punching the living daylights out of the older man, but it was getting more and more difficult by the minute.

After Ziva had revealed Gibbs' presence at ISAF, Tim had first felt elated, because his Team Leader had crossed the oceans to rescue him in spite of the less-than-amiable words they had exchanged before Tim left DC. Then the elation had turned into embarrassment, since he still considered the kidnapping and subsequent mess been partly of his fault from having failed to 'detect' the rebels on time – in spite of Stephenson's, and later Ziva's, reassurances. She had told him in no uncertain terms that he was blameless for the attack: he was not Superman and no one could pretend to have X-Ray vision seeing through mountains and boulders! But the ex-Mossad officer did not know about The Watcher so she was unaware of Tim's inability to protect the program's circuits from lightning.

And then, there had been anger – white, blinding anger, a feeling Tim had never experienced before. For the young man, Gibbs in Afghanistan was another proof the Team Leader did not trust Tim's abilities in the slightest, and it was more than the young man could bear. His stay in Afghanistan had indeed toughened him up, both physically and emotionally. He had learned hundreds of survival tricks with Roberts and the others while running field tests in the desert and it had sure helped him during his captivity. The knowledge he had acquired from the Marines and Ducky's notebook, added to the self-confidence he had developed by loving Aimee had changed Tim McGee to the point of no return. He was no longer the insecure, stuttering, eager-to-please young man and yet, his NCIS colleagues still treated him like a goofball unable to do anything right outside the bullpen, a born victim, the naive with delusions of grandeur – a Jester, like he had told Ducky once: funny, helpless entertainer disappearing whenever the 'big boys' ordered it. No matter how hard Tim would work, how many dangers he would face in the US or abroad, Gibbs would never consider McGee as a full-fledged Agent worthy of his trust.

And his wrath had increased exponentially from the past few minutes, after Gibbs had confessed his ill-fated initiative with Butler!

"McGee, please try to understand…"

"That's not an answer, Boss. For the third and hopefully the last time, **YOU DID WHAT?**"

The silver-haired man watched Tim with unease: the kid certainly looked as if he had been put through the wringer and the sight of his bruised face made Gibbs wanting to find Sergeant Miller's room and pound the man to a bloody pulp – but it was not his call any longer. He had royally screwed up and Vance would read him the mother of all riot acts back in DC but the Director's ire was nothing compared to the fury of his youngest.

"_Time to bite the bullet, Marine,"_ sighed Gibbs' reason to him, and then he answered:

"I… called Burt Butler and asked him to watch over you."

Tim sank back against his pillows, staring silently at the ceiling with barely-repressed rage. At least he knew who the 'Old Bastard' was – the one Butler had talked about while he was beating him up. It was none other than the magnificent, unbeatable, you'd-better-do-as-I-say-if-you-know-what's-good-f or-you Leroy Jethro Gibbs!

The young McGee shivered in spite of the warm temperature reigning in the hospital, as he remembered the shouted words between rounds of blows:

"_An __old bastard very concerned about you, to the point of transgressing secrecy and revealing you being in Kabul."_

"_The Old Bastard who gave me your name wouldn't tell me the whys of your presence in Afghanistan."_

"_According to the Old Bastard, you're very intelligent, aren't you, Agent McGee?"_

Gibbs' phone call had picked Butler's curiosity, and the avid mercenary had wanted to know the reasons of Tim being at ISAF under a fake name, and what the frequent trips in the desert had been about. To reach his goals, Butler had coerced Miller in providing him with information – not that the Sergeant would have 'resisted' tough interrogation for very long – and then it had not taken long for Butler to make the connection between McGee and his rising number of unsatisfied customers. Butler had seen an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone, stopping Tim from ruining his business and gaining a new source of knowledge in weapon-detection; same thing with Miller, who had been too happy to get rid of a rival so he could ambush and rape Aimee in the darkest corners of ISAF's basement.

So the two men had formed an association and Tim had found himself at the mercy of terrorists, beaten within an inch of his life and lost in the desert… _all this because someone had accidentally tipped off Butler. _

Tim recalled trying to figure out the Old Bastard's identity while he was held in the cavern and he had thought of two candidates, his father and Gibbs, just before dismissing them on the grounds of impossibility: the Admiral was unconcerned about his issue and Gibbs was supposed to be a seasoned veteran of undercover missions.

And yet, it had been Gibbs who had blown the whistle. Of all the persons of the world, it had to be him!

But _**why**_? What had possessed the Boss to act so stupidly?

At the same time, Gibbs' voice rose again in the hospital room:

"McGee… Tim, I know you're mad at me but I want you to listen for a minute. I called Butler and entrusted him with a surveillance mission: he was supposed to watch whenever you left the base and report to me about your comings and goings at ISAF, your health, this kind of things. I needed to know if you were well but Tim, I swear… I swear on Shannon and Kelly's graves that I didn't know Butler had become an arms dealer in the meantime, selling weapons to the Taliban. I met him during the Gulf War and he was already a shadowy character, but his business was limited to a bit of contraband, selling cigarettes and other junk to the men. After the Gulf, I've lost contact with Butler but I heard through the grapevine that he had become a mercenary and offered his services to the highest bidders in Eastern Europe."

Tim did not bat an eyelid and remained silent as a tomb. Growing increasingly worried, Gibbs carried on with his explanation:

"I was very angry about you leaving for Afghanistan, especially with all that hush-hush and Vance's refusal to let me talk to you via MTAC. I… I couldn't let you go without having any news from you in six months, I just couldn't! The very idea of you alone in a war zone was simply unbearable. Vance wouldn't tell me how you were faring and only the satisfied smile he wore every Friday after your videoconferences soothed my fears for a while – but then, he told me about an incident at ISAF. I do not know the details; only that you'd been attacked and managed to overpower your enemy."

The young McGee closed his eyes in a vain attempt to chase away the souvenir of the assault in the showers' room. Stephenson had told him the day before about Miller's wild assumptions, thinking of him as a homosexual granting his favors to the General in exchange of a privileged life on the base. Tim had been shocked and horrified beyond words at this revelation: not only had it explained the reason of the Sergeant's attack, but it had also awakened the painful memories of Tony spreading the rumor around NCIS that Tim was gay. In both cases, it had been a matter of "removing the competition" but the only difference had been the means: Tony had used calumnies whereas Miller had opted for a knife and, considering his reputation as a sexual predator, it did not take a lot of imagination to understand what the Sergeant had in store next – exactly the same thing the gay-bashers had planned to do to Tim, if it had not been for the MPs' vigilance in the parking on that fateful night.

"That attack was the last straw; I knew General Stephenson couldn't be trusted with your protection, so I took charge and decided to call Butler. I offered him money for a spying job and he was supposed to report to me every time he'd see you leaving ISAF; he was a greedy bastard, and I thought he wouldn't be against earning some extra cash with an easy surveillance job – little did I know he would use my information to plan your kidnapping and sell you to his customers! In retrospection I know that calling Butler hasn't been a smart move from my part and I'll understand your anger at me, but I'm genuinely concerned for your well-being and…"

"Since when?"

"What?" asked Gibbs, taken aback by the question.

"Since when are you concerned by my well-being? It has always been the least of your worries" said an acerbic McGee.

"But…"

"I'd be happy to provide you with examples, if needed," continued Tim with an icy tone. "Let's see… How about the day I shoot Benedict and you didn't bother to offer me some moral support, in spite that I was devastated from having killed an undercover cop? Or after I nearly got killed by Jet, with Abby calling me a murderer loud enough for the whole NCIS bullpen to hear, while my neck and shoulder were still bleeding from the bites? And when I was tazered twice in a day and the idea of sending me to a hospital has never crossed your mind, as you were too busy with the case?"

"Tim, I…"

"But the icing of the cake had been when you forced me to wade into a tub filled with stagnant water infected with mosquito larvae, in spite of the HAZMAT red tag adorning it. It read, as clear as day: _"WARNING, hazardous liquids, do not manipulate without proper equipment"_. And yet, you were in such a hurry to get evidence that you ordered me to get into the hot tub and retrieve the corpse! But I did ask you to wait for the biohazard crew, didn't I? I also told you I was not wearing adequate footwear and the polluted water would inevitably breach over the top of my boots, soaking my legs and putting me in danger of falling sick – I even used Archimedes' theory to illustrate my point, but did you care? No! The only thing that mattered to you was the case, so to Hell with my health – after all, I'm expendable!"

"McGee!"

"Do you remember what you told me, Gibbs? Do you remember your exact words, right after you rejected all my objections?"

The older man's face turned as white as his hair.

"Yeah, I do: _"Swim, Tim."_"

"Exactly," shot Tim back. "_Swim, Tim, _because you didn't care if I'd caught a life-threatening disease like malaria. _Swim, Tim,_ because murder cases are way more important than my wellbeing; because I'm the fifth wheel of your team; because I can be replaced by any other computer tech fished out of Cyber-Crime. _Swim, Tim,_ because I'm negligible compared to Tony, Abby and Ziva. _Swim, Tim_ and if I get killed it will be entirely my fault, because I'm a geek who has foolishly believed to earn your respect in due time. But it won't happen, not in a million years, simply because you abhor intelligence and I have been blessed with a brain!"

"That's not true! I value your smarts, Tim. We'd be lost without your input…"

"Cut the crap."

"I'm serious, Tim!"

"Oh, really? Well, tell me one thing, Team Leader Gibbs: would you have ordered your Senior Agent and adopted son Tony DiNozzo to retrieve a dead body from a hot-tub filled with polluted water, without him wearing the proper equipment to do so?"

Gibbs answered very quietly: "No…"

"Would you have asked Abby Sciuto, Forensics scientist and your all-time favorite, to fish the corpse out of that container filled with diseases without making her wear thigh boots to guarantee her safety?"

"No."

"How about Ziva David, ex-Mossad officer and expert in knives? Would you have put her in charge of this particular chore without a second thought about endangering her health? Or Doctor Mallard, maybe his assistant Jimmy?"

"No! Tim, I know I acted like an absolute ass that day. I should never have ordered you to get into the hot-tub without proper equipment, never!"

"But you _did_, Gibbs. You deliberately put me at risk, and you know why? Because you consider that I can be sacrificed on the altar of your high crime-solving rate. That's the word around NCIS: _"Gibbs cares only about DiNozzo, David and Dr. Mallard, and he goes mad whenever Sciuto breaks a fingernail in the lab. Apart from those four, he doesn't give a damn about anyone – especially McGee!"_ Well, the hot-tub incident confirmed my previous suspicions about your lack of concern and in a way, it was a relief: since you didn't care one way or the other about what happened to me, then I was free to act as I pleased – including designing a computer program and test it in Afghanistan, in spite of your objections."

Gibbs sank on the nearest chair, his ears full of the sounds of his fortress' walls breaking, his mind reeling by what Tim had just said. It was simply awful; _the kid genuinely thought he was expendable_? But nothing was more farther than the truth!

"Tim…"

"You never call me by my first name, so don't start doing it now!"

"Tim… McGee, you're wrong. I care about you. I know I haven't done a good job showing it, but I'll prove it to you…"

"It's too late for that, Gibbs. I'm not interested in anything you will say or do in the future; just because you're my Boss didn't give you the right to interfere with my mission, out of a so-called concern for me that had never existed in the first place. And don't think for a minute that I'll ever forgive you for the death of my friends!"

"I never wanted you or your friends to be hurt! Butler betrayed me and he's lucky to be dead, otherwise I'd have cut him into ribbons."

"Whatever! By the way, I don't remember you contacting mercenaries to look after Tony during his stay in Iraq, or Ziva after she left for Somalia. So, what prompted you to call Butler?"

"I told you, I was worried about your safety…"

"And you weren't about Tony and Ziva's? Oh, that's right, I forgot: both of them are full-fledged fighters so they don't need protection. They are reliable Agents whereas I'm only the clumsy geek that couldn't even fend off a fly – funny thing is, Sergeant Miller shared your opinion. He thought ambushing me in the showers' room would be a piece of cake since according to him I was only a helpless fag with an ass that begged to be raped."

Tim finally turned his hard eyes towards his Boss, and asked sharply:

"It's too bad I've showed Miller, Butler and the Taliban the error of their ways, hmm? It sure shot to Hell their opinion – and yours – about me being a sitting duck."

Gibbs ran his hands through his hair, resisting the urge to pull at the silver strands until he would be bald. The groaning and creaking of the fortress' walls were deafening. This reunion was getting worse by the minute!

"McGee, you don't understand. I was worried…"

"**No, **_**YOU**_** don't understand!**" shouted Tim. "**You simply cannot understand what you've done!** Don't you realize you've been the pilot fish in this mess, the one that had guided the shark right into the shoal? Some of my friends have been killed, including a person who was very dear to me, simply because you didn't believe I could defend myself since I'm neither a Marine nor a cop!"

"McGee, I've never thought you couldn't defend yourself. You're too smart to be stopped by inexperience on the field and I'm quite aware that you took classes over the years: hand-to-hand combat, karate, firearms training, crime scene procedures and hostage negotiating to name a few… And you passed all the tests with flying colors, but why did you keep quiet about this?"

"Why should I have told you? You'd have shrugged the whole thing off before ordering me to go back to work, and Tony would have howled in laughter learning the useless Probie was trying to improve his almost-nonexistent skills. According to 'DiNavel', workshops are only good for incapables, including yours truly – which may help to explain why he never signs up for training classes. He doesn't need them, since he benefits from **your** protection and takes for gospel's truth **your** life experience."

"Tim!"

"I'm sick and tired of you, Gibbs. I'm sick and tired of your double-standards policy and don't you try to head-slap me because I swear to God I'd break your arm. The only reason you tolerate me in your team is for the information that I can provide thanks to my abilities with computers; otherwise, if we weren't living in the digital age, you wouldn't have given me the time of day. Well, it's over: once the work at ISAF is finished, I'll ask Vance for a transfer in another team and I don't care of how many insults you and Abby will hurl at my head. I've lost all my respect for you; your opinion means squat to me, as well as your adopted kids'."

"You can't leave! I won't let you; you're mine!"

"I'm not yours! Never have, never will be. I don't belong to you and I don't want to work for you any longer. Tell Tony that his lifelong dream has finally come true: he'll remain the unique guy of Team Gibbs so he doesn't have to fear anymore about another Agent taking his place as your surrogate son."

"**YOU ARE MY SON, TIM!"**

A stunned silence followed Gibbs' desperate declaration, and then tears filled Tim's eyes. The Team Leader rose out of his chair to gather the kid in his arms and hug him, but the young man's steel-like voice stopped him dead on his tracks:

"Get out."

"McGee…"

"I said, **out**! I don't want to see your lying face."

"I'm not lying to you! I consider you as my…"

"If that's how you'd treat your son, Gibbs, then I'm really happy that you don't have one in real life. You're even worse than the Admiral and I'd never have thought it humanely possible."

"Please listen…"

"I'm through listening to your nonsense. All I know is, your lack of faith in me has lead you to take a stupid decision that had killed Marines, and you're trying to sweep the whole matter under the carpet by making a sensational statement. But who in the world are you trying to fool? I know it's only a smokescreen. You have only one surrogate son and his name's Tony; you have only one adopted daughter, named Abby. And you took Ziva under your wing simply because you couldn't resist her military training. The three of them live up to your standards, and I don't – well, fine! I've got the message loud and clear so leave me alone."

"McGee, I swear, I'll make it up to you. I've told Stephenson that I would take full responsibility for the attack and your kidnapping, even if it means the end of my career at NCIS."

"So what? Do you think you playing martyr will make me forget what you've done? If that so, then you're in for a rude awakening. Nothing you can do or say will make me forget you have babbled about my presence in Afghanistan to Butler. No amounts of worry can excuse the fact you've deliberately breached the secrecy of a mission, endangering the Marines stationed at ISAF. You wanted to control me from afar and, after your great scheme involving Butler backfired, you had no other choice than to fly to Kabul in an attempt to repair your goof, hoping you'd become a hero by rescuing me from the Taliban, just like you did in Somalia. Unfortunately, things didn't work out as you've planned. I don't forgive you."

"Tim…"

"I've already told you to stop calling me that! Go back to DC, right now I cannot bear to look at you. Besides, you're wanted at NCIS: Abby must be screaming her head off about you being absent and Tony must be furious that you've chose Ziva to accompany you, thus depriving him of a golden occasion to make his usual show-off number – not to forget humiliating me in front of the Marines, in the lines of: _"Yeah, this is our colleague but I still call him 'Probie' because he's as dumb as he were on his first day at NCIS; in fact that numbskull has managed to let himself being caught by the Taliban and I had to come and save his worthless ass, since he's absolutely unable to do anything without me, Very Special Agent DiNozzo!"_

"Oh Tim, for the love of God…"

"What, you want to apologize now? You're getting weak in your old age, Gibbs."

The image of a fortress in ruins popped inside Gibbs' mind. My God, what had he done? Had he been such a poor Boss that Tim distrusted him so much? Had his 'Playing Favorite' game gone too far that his youngest thought he counted for nothing? Had he pushed the kid so far that nothing remained of their great team except desolation and rumbles?

If it was so, then something had to be done about it! Gibbs rose to his feet, took his best military posture and said:

"You're wrong, McGee and one day you'll realize I was sincere."

"I doubt very much this day will ever happen, Gibbs," said Tim, his heart breaking at each tear escaping from his eyes.

_Oh Aimee, Aimee! You are gone from my stupidity and Gibbs'. Forgive me, sweetheart, forgive me!_

TBC…


	68. A deliberation

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

_- Casino_ is a 1995 American crime movie directed by Martin Scorsese (b. 1942)

- The etymology of the word 'Secret' comes from .

- To Jeika: you're right, Tim is sexy when angry… and he will be even sexier once the McGiva starts! ;o)

- To earthdragon: Gibbs is finally realizing what he has done, and it will be the beginning of his redemption – but no Gitmo for him! You'll find out why in this chapter.

- To Sambrea: thanks for the applause, it was much appreciated!

- To Animelvr: I'm glad you liked the angst, and the healing will start soon.

- To RedDragen: Tim had to make a stand against Gibbs, since it was his ill-fated initiative that had started the whole mess. Gibbs may have acted out of concern for Tim but this time he went too far.

- To ollie260211: the updates are done every Saturday so I hope you'll like this new chapter.

- To KaneWhore2489: I prefer virtual cookies! xD

- To Mark Gibbs: Tim is not done with Tony and Abby, the former for having lied about being in a relationship with Ziva and the latter for her crybaby attitude. I liked your idea!

To None: Ziva has a special place in Tim's heart, so he won't hold it against her the fact that she's an integral part of Gibbs' Team.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 68: A deliberation<strong>

_Two days after, at NCIS…_

It was about 11:00 p.m. and Leon Vance should have left the NCIS building hours ago, enjoying a quiet evening with his family. They would have shared a nice dinner with Jared and Kayla talking about their accomplishments at school. Then, after the children had been put to bed, Vance would have spent some quality time with Jackie in front of the TV, watching a mindless program while relishing in the strong, warm feeling of his wife curled up against his side. He should be forgetting the world and all the problems in a good night's sleep so he could come back to work the next morning, refreshed in both mind and body, ready to face a new day of hardships as the Director of a federal agency.

But, instead of the comforts of home, Vance was currently sitting in his office, inwardly seething with anger while glaring at the silver-haired man facing his desk!

Leroy Jethro Gibbs was standing to attention in spite of the long trip back from Afghanistan he had just made. After his confrontation with Tim, he had realized his youngest son did not want to come back to the US with him, not before that Special Project of his would be rebuilt – heck, Gibbs was not even sure the kid would ever want to work with him again at NCIS, not after the major goof he had done. His initiative in calling Butler had resulted in the kidnapping of McGee and the death of four Marines, one of them being a woman Tim had grown quite attached to. Only a miraculous turn of events had allowed the kid to come back to ISAF, in one piece but traumatized beyond words and Gibbs hated himself for being partially responsible for his plight.

The Team Leader had thrown in the towel and he had asked Stephenson for his immediate repatriation, which had been promptly granted. However, Stephenson had remained the perfect gentleman: he had neither gloated nor said _"I told you so"_ to the devastated Gibbs; he had made arrangements for the plane to take off as soon as possible. And he had even allowed Ziva to stay at ISAF, at McGee's respectful request. Stephenson had been quite aware that Gibbs at ISAF upset McGee, whereas Ziva's soothing presence would be just what the young man needed: a friend who had also experienced brutal losses in her lifetime and would know the right words to help him overcome survivor's guilt.

The Israeli woman had been embarrassed at first for being allowed to stay at ISAF while her Boss was given the boot, but her attitude radically changed after hearing about Gibbs' indiscretion with Butler: not only it went against her training as both a Mossad officer and a US federal agent, but it had been an all-around stupid move!

_(Flashback)_

"_You did __**what**__?"_

"_Tim's already asked that question, Ziver," said the Team Leader with a weary tone._

"_That's not an answer, Gibbs!"_

"_Ziva…"_

"_To think you've told about McGee to a corrupted mercenary who was selling weapons to Taliban, and he used that information to have McGee kidnapped and tortured! It's awful!"_

"_I know, I know! God, believe me when I tell you I've never wanted any harm to befall on the kid…"_

"_Isn't there a saying about the pavement of Hell made with good intentions?" asked a severe-looking Ziva. "You can count yourself lucky General Stephenson is not having you shot at dawn – for good, this time – for accidental treason! Or he could have you arrested again and have you court-martialed or sent to Guantanamo or... Or worse! Tony told me about people disappearing in the desert outside Las Vegas, how there are holes there that had been dug for the ones who had messed with the wrong persons, just like in that '_Casino'_ movie he can quote by heart. Afghanistan is a desert country and I cannot even start to imagine what Stephenson would do to you, after four of his men died and three got wounded, plus Tim nearly dying … It was truly a miracle that he has managed to find his way back to Kabul, after having escaped from the terrorists!"_

_Gibbs' eyes had darkened at those words, making Ziva pause in her ranting._

"_What is it?"_

"_A miracle, indeed… In fact, I'm having a hard time believing McGee has managed to survive this ordeal on his own."_

_This time, it had been Ziva's gaze that had turned a shade darker!_

"_Because you think he's not good enough; because you're still convinced that, simply because Tim is not police or military, he's completely helpless and cannot find his way out of a grocery bag. Am I mistaken?"_

"_NO, IT'S NOT THAT!" thundered Gibbs, losing the little patience he had been bestowed upon at birth. "And mind the lip, David, you're still my subordinate and don't you forget it. No… I'm just wondering if Tim has benefited from outside help during his escape, which could explain how he has reached ISAF after having been beaten within an inch of his life."_

"_You mean, like a tribesman hostile to the Taliban who had given him a lift to Kabul?"_

"_It's possible."_

"_Well, whoever this person is, he or she must have good reasons to remain anonymous. There are lots of people out there who resent the Allied forces and they won't be happy learning one of their compatriots have helped an injured American soldier to escape from the terrorists' 'crutches' – either from ideology or greed. There have been previous examples of Afghanis helping lost Americans and then had to flee their own country afterwards, fearing retaliation against them or their families."_

"_I still wanna know who this person is."_

"_Forget it, Gibbs! Your prying and 'pooking' has done enough damages already. Besides, we have more pressing matters at hand, namely helping Tim through the emotional distress he's facing from the loss of his friends. Knowing him, he's probably thinking the whole thing is his fault and I refuse to let him swallow in his grief."_

"_You mean, 'wallow'. _'To wallow in his grief'_, Ziva."_

"_Whatever! I've been there and it's not something I wish on anyone, not even my worst enemies. In spite of what Tony may think, survivor's guilt is no truffles!"_

"_Trifles, Ziver! Truffles are mushrooms."_

"_Well, I'm not leaving Tim alone here, kept in the dark and fed on rubbish like a mushroom. I'm staying at ISAF; I'll help him every step of the way through his mourning and I don't care if Stephenson's not happy about my being here. And shucks to Vance, too!"_

_(End of flashback)_

Said Vance was watching eagle-like his disobedient Team Leader, and Gibbs had a hard time to refrain from sighing. He knew the Director would not be happy about his unauthorized escapade, and Stephenson had probably told him via MTAC about Butler – spelling Gibbs's doom at NCIS as surely as if he had conspired against the life of the President of the United States of America. But the silver-haired man was too discouraged and too tired to even worry about his fate. The only thing he wanted was to get on with it so he could finally get some rest – either in his bed at home or in a prison cell's bunk, whichever came first.

Vance took a toothpick from the box on his desk, stuck it at the corner of his mouth and asked:

"Well?"

"Well, what."

"What do you have to say for yourself, Gibbs?"

Gibbs repressed the urge to roll his eyes; what on Earth did Leon want him to say, apart from the fact he was glad Tony, Abby and Ducky had been sent home hours ago? He certainly was not in shape to endure an octopus-like hug from Abby or to listen to Tony's complains about having being excluded from the illegal rescue mission. Ducky's face would have been a welcome sight but Gibbs could not ask his old friend to stay up late and be a witness of his disgrace.

The Team Leader had to face it: he was getting old, he could not endure the change of time zones as easily as before and the recent events had sapped all his strength. Maybe it was time for him to leave the agency to younger, smarter persons…

"I have nothing to say, Leon."

"Well, that's a first: Leroy Jethro Gibbs, speechless! That's amazing, considering you think every word coming out of your mouth is a diamond that us laypersons should treasure – which may helps to explain the fact you never shut up, not even when you say absolute nonsense."

"Leon, I'm tired so let's cut the crap. Yes, I did tell Butler about McGee in Afghanistan. Yes, I did it because I wanted to be updated about the kid, after you've refused to let me talk to him on MTAC. Yes, I was worried about McGee. No, I didn't know Butler was a double-crosser who had sold his services to the Taliban. No, I didn't realize Butler would make the connection between McGee and the detection of landmines before it could kill or maim people. Yes, I took the initiative to rush to McGee's aid without your permission. Yes, McGee has managed to come back on his own and I'm damn proud of him. No, I'm not sorry I have left for Afghanistan. Yes, I'm ready to face the consequences of my actions, since I'm sole responsible for this mess."

"What about Agent David? She has equally disobeyed my orders and yet, I don't see her with you. Is she hiding from her responsibilities?"

"David is at ISAF; Stephenson has accepted that she stayed at McGee's side to act as his bodyguard. His former guardian angel, Corporal Roberts, has been injured during the attack and with all the hush-hush surrounding McGee's Special Project, it is preventing Stephenson to entrust someone else for this task. David is twice better trained than any given Marine in protection skills and she has a high motivation to keep McGee safe, as he is her friend."

"If David thinks this delay in her return will save her bacon, than she is gravely mistaken," said Vance, munching on his toothpick with a vengeance. "She will have a lot to answer once she steps back to DC."

"Leon, please leave her out of this. David wouldn't be in Afghanistan if it hadn't been for me committing a blunder in the first place."

"Yes, about that tiny matter of you going behind my back and giving a phone call that had snowballed badly – well, what I should do about it, Special Agent Gibbs?" asked the Director in an icy tone. "Tell me, which one of your Rules do you recur to when having to justify your actions after disobeying your superiors' orders? Is it number 13, 46, 8, or what?"

Gibbs' blue eyes turned as cold as ice.

"I came to McGee's aid, just like I did when David was in mortal peril abroad!"

"But David was not on a US government's mission before she got captured by terrorists in Somalia!" shot Vance back. "She was on a self-appointed mission out of loyalty for her father and interfering in Somalia only involved you and your team, plus the Somali authorities weren't going to make a fuss after learning about a handful of terrorists having being gunned down in the desert – they probably thought it a good riddance! But McGee's assignment was completely different from David's, **hence the circumstances were also different**. McGee's in charge of designing a secret device that can save thousands of lives; he has already proven his program is a success, meaning in the near future our troops will be highly protected, but also our allies and the locals while the enemy will bite the dust… _hard_… and be completely discredited. McGee's work is worth millions, and this kind of things inevitably attracts the attention of vultures of every sort. General Stephenson had done everything in his power to ensure McGee's security – and don't even get started about the attack that had happened in the showers! It was due to a man, a disgrace to the Marines, who wrongly thought the kid would be an easy prey. Apparently, Sergeant Miller has a strong liking for humiliating others and the tendency to rape those who stand up against him, may they be women or men."

Gibbs closed his eyes briefly as he thought in horror of what could have happened to his youngest in the showers' room if Tim had not overpowered his assailant. Kind, considerate, gentleman Tim at the mercy of a monster… Thank God the kid had grown up (without Gibbs' even realizing it) and had learned how to use a knife… Doubtless Ziva had something to do about this newfound dexterity with blades; it certainly could not have come from Tony's teachings!

"I wanted to kill Miller before leaving ISAF, but Stephenson wouldn't let me."

"And rightly so! It's _his_ base, consequently _his_ decisions prevail above everything and if he tells you to not kill a man, then you obey and that's the end of it. Besides, from what Stephenson told me, that bastard Miller is babbling his life away in a desperate attempt to save his skin: he's giving the names of all his former accomplices, may they be smugglers, drug dealers or traffickers of all sorts – but the fool doesn't even realize he's digging his own grave with his tongue. Whatever he can say won't be enough to spare him the court martial and if life in prison won't kill him, the other inmates will do the job."

Vance took the toothpick from out of his mouth and grimaced at the sight: it had broken in two under the stress-induced pressure of his jaw. He promptly discarded the stick of wood in a wastebasket and picked up a new one before saying:

"Frankly, Gibbs, I don't know what to do with you. Obviously, you cannot be trusted in keeping a cool head under pressure and you are unable to stop interfering in secret missions involving your teammates, even at the risk of endangering them!"

"It's your call, Leon. Whatever you do, I won't offer any resistance," said Gibbs, his eyes more world-weary than ever. "Demotion, dismissal, jail time, court-martial, Guantanamo… Right now, I cannot possibly care about what can happen to me. Tim is furious at me and I don't blame him for a second; there's no way he can forgive what I've done. I acted like a fool and the kid has paid for my actions, as usual. And Stephenson has every right to claim my head, after my phone call killed four of his men!"

"Tempting idea, but NO," said the Director firmly. "As I've been trying to drill it into that cement-skull of yours for the past five months, McGee is on a **secret** mission. Do you know the etymology of this word, Gibbs? It's quite fascinating: it goes back from late fourteenth century and it comes from the Latin word _secretus_, which can mean _'set apart'_, _'withdrawn'_, _'hidden'_ or even_ 'private'_."

"Leon…" groaned an annoyed Gibbs.

"In McGee's case, the best meaning of the word '_secret' _is_ 'hidden'_: he is hiding at ISAF under a fake identity and, apart from Stephenson and me, nobody knows exactly what he does all day long. Before his abduction, the people at ISAF had barely acknowledged his presence amongst them, thanks to McGee's natural talent to blend in the crowd – unlike that loudmouthed DiNozzo, who is as discreet as a whale in a fish tank! Now, the kidnapping has drawn unwanted attention on McGee as everybody considers him a hero, not only from having escaped from the rebels but also for having neutered Miller – but there are no doubts in my mind that the kid will find a way to divert all this attention elsewhere. And then he will rebuild his Special Project, back to the shadows from where he came, and none will be the wiser. In spite of your meddling, McGee's cover is intact and he won't let anything stop him from completing his work."

Vance discreetly stretched his back against his office chair's cushion, in an attempt to relieve the stress knotting his shoulders' muscles.

"_The secrecy protecting McGee in Afghanistan also protects you, Gibbs_. I cannot take disciplinary actions against you or David without mentioning a valid reason, which in your case is interfering in a **secret** mission. Now, I can hardly tell about the Special Project while filing up the paperwork and I've had enough indiscretions lately! Disciplinary actions is a serious matter and it cannot be done out of a whim or just because a Director does not like one of his agents. As long as McGee is involved in Afghanistan, I cannot kick you out of NCIS so there won't be any sacking, jailing or flights to Gitmo anytime soon, much to my frustration! But I believe in rules – not in yours, mind you, but in the NCIS-issued ones, which should have been your guidelines once you've started to work here, instead of constantly referring to your biased experience of life."

Gibbs' blue eyes widened slightly at this unexpected turn of events. No jail, no angry dismissal, no court martial? His major goof would remain unpunished? No, that would not be! He refused to get out scot-free for the death of the Marines. Gibbs was a soldier to the core and a firm believer in the military code of honor: he would not disgrace himself by having his indirect responsibility swept under the carpet because of the confidentiality surrounding his youngest son's Special Project.

"I demand you sanction me, Leon!"

"Oh you will be, Gibbs – but in due time. Right now, the stakes are too high for me to be distracted by your inaptitude to follow orders and you pulling a Rambo-like stunt in the middle of a covert operation. I've got half a mind to put you in house arrest, but Sciuto would inevitably rant and rave about it and I have better things to do than listen to her whining. So for now, and until McGee returns from Afghanistan, you're reassigned on cold cases and you'd better be quiet about your wanderings abroad unless you want me to change my mind! David's absence will be justified with a trip to Israel for a family emergency. As for DiNozzo, Sciuto and the rest of your teammates, I will tell them in short and sweet terms that any indiscretion from their part will spell their doom as federal employees – in fact, I'd use words so simple that even DiNozzo will understand them! After the kid's back, I'll decide what to do with you but rest assured you're finished as a Team Leader, Gibbs. You simply cannot be trusted with the well-being and the safety of your subordinates and no, being an ex-Marine is not an excuse to treat everyone around you as rookies in a boot camp."

"I know, Leon," said Gibbs, sadly remembering the heated argument only two days ago in which Tim had made him remember that painful incident with the hot-tub filled with contaminated water.

"You can thank your lucky stars that McGee's cover has not been compromised by your hare-brained ideas, Gibbs. If word had ever come out about a genius designing a device that would give the US forces the upper hand in any given conflict, nothing would have protected you, not even your exemplary Marine's past!"

"Maybe his cover isn't uncompromised, Leon."

"What do you mean?"

"McGee's a damn good agent and he's much more resourceful than I credited him for (Vance snorted in derision) but I have field experience in the desert and I know it is nearly impossible to trek there without any food or equipment. His captors took him miles away from Kabul, in an area of mountains and they usually not motorized, out of fear that tire tracks would give away their whereabouts. McGee didn't have the possibility to borrow a vehicle to flee the terrorists' lair after he escaped so he had to find his way back on foot while injured, meaning he could not walk at a quick pace. Also, I doubt there were a lot of edibles in the camp and McGee needed enough water and food to fight off dehydration, which got worsened over the days by the sunshine and the blood loss from his wounds."

"Your point, Gibbs?"

"Leon, Tim had barely a chance out of an hundred to come back to Kabul alive; sunstroke and exhaustion would have killed him as surely as the terrorists' if they had caught him again. He's the most courageous person I've ever met but sometimes, even courage is not enough to survive such a terrible ordeal. My gut tells me Tim has encountered some help during his escape; he didn't tell me a word about what had happened and neither did Stephenson, but I cannot shake the feeling that a third party had interfered as well."

Vance grumbled under his breath; when he was not busy doing his barking-mad-Boss number, Gibbs could actually make sense!

"You're right, Gibbs; a third party _did_ help McGee in reaching ISAF. Stephenson told me himself, after the kid gave him the whole story."

"Who was it, then? A peasant, or a sympathizer to the Allied forces?"

"Neither, Gibbs. It was someone you and I have encountered in the past, much to our dismay. I wasn't planning to tell you, not after the recent bloody mess you've made but considering the snake-like nature of the person, it's always better to be warned."

"Who was it, then?"

Vance braced himself for the tedious conversation that was going to occur:

"Trent Kort."

The astonishing news made Gibbs to fall down on a chair, regardless of the fact the Director had not allowed him to sit but given the circumstances, Vance ignored this new display of disobedience from the Team Leader. The news that Kort had played a role in McGee's rescue was extraordinary in itself and Gibbs could not help but think Tim had done the impossible, namely 'taming' the CIA rogue and make him behave like a decent human being. But it also raised a new concern: had the kid talked about his project to Kort, one way or the other?

"Yes, I was amazed too, when Stephenson told me about this."

"Kort has rescued Tim? So he's the one who had killed the terrorists before taking the kid to safety."

"That's where you're wrong, Gibbs. McGee _**did**_ escape alone; he didn't wait for the cavalry or anyone else to get out of this mess – he dealt firstly with his captors, and then with Butler before finding a way to lock the survivors in their own lair. He walked his way back to ISAF across the desert and he was just reaching the highway when Kort found him. He gave McGee water and wasted no time driving him to Kabul; of course, the rogue didn't linger once McGee was safely inside the base's walls – apparently, the Marines Corps are unappreciative of his activities and Stephenson would have loved to 'question' him about a stunt he has pulled in Kuwait, years ago. That's too bad, I would have loved to ask Kort a few questions, too."

Gibbs rubbed his hand over his tired eyes: "I'm having a hard time believing Kort has actually strayed from his usual scheming, conspiring path just to help one of ours."

"So do I, and the idea of being indebted to Kort isn't pleasant but I cannot be finicky about the people who save the life of my agents," said Vance, picking up a third toothpick. "At least, this goddamned rogue had the good taste to act discreetly and efficiently, unlike some persons who should remain anonymous!"

"Do you think McGee may have talked to Kort about his project?" asked Gibbs, grinding his teeth from the Director's sarcasm. "The kid was probably delirious from heat and exhaustion, so maybe…"

"It's a faint possibility but even if McGee has inadvertently talked, Kort isn't stupid. He's not going to use this information before he get confirmation that the Special Project truly exists, since his superiors at the CIA – or, should I say, the persons he's supposed to work for – don't give a damn about gossips. What they want is good, tangible information and Kort isn't willing to irate them more than he has already done by presenting a case based only on hearsays. But I wouldn't be surprised if that busybody tries to get his hands on the project!"

"Then, Tim needs protection! You should call Stephenson and…"

"That's quite enough from you, Gibbs. Kort would hardly go through the bother to save a man's life just to kill him a few months later, even he isn't that crazy! McGee is safe at ISAF like inside a fortress and he won't come out before taking a plane back to the US. And, as I've said, the chances of McGee talking are very low; the kid has a will of iron and nothing can make him spill the beans about the Special Project, not even torture at the hands of your pal Butler so I sincerely doubt sunstroke could do the trick. McGee is the kind of man who would rather die than talk, and it's lucky that he has managed to escape; otherwise, the loss of that lion-hearted genius would have brought us to our knees."

"Yeah, we're lucky to have him…" said Gibbs under his breath.

TBC…


	69. A persuasion

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- This chapter is dedicated to ElSaTa: my best wishes for a prompt recovery.

- KISS is an American rock band formed in New York City in 1973 (from Wikipedia).

- The quote from Confucius is from _The Analects_ book.

- To McGivaShipper: this is a McGiva story, so don't worry! XD

- To Guest: something tells me Kort was already aware of The Watcher: it's hard to keep secrets with that snoop around.

- To Jeika: sorry to disappoint you, but Abby's punishment is not in this chapter… just keep on reading ;o)

- To None: I hope this chapter will meet your expectations!

- To Guest: thank you for the important point of Ziva never using contractions.

- To RedDragen: you've made me blush, thank you!

- To Mark Gibbs: Abby will indeed commit a major goof, but not before Tim is back in DC.

- To ollie260211: thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter.

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><p><strong>Chapter 69: A persuasion<strong>

_The next day at NCIS…_

"**GIBBS!"**

The silver-haired man had been waiting in the conference room for his colleagues and he barely had the time to turn around before being engulfed in a trademark Abby-hug. After leaving Vance's office last evening, he had went home to wash, shave and grab something to eat but sleep had eluded him, his mind still reeling from his confrontation with the Director of NCIS. So instead of getting some much-needed rest from the jet-lag, he had paced in his living-room for hours, stopping only to look at Tim's framed photograph on the upper shelf of the new bookcase.

Gibbs knew he had been granted a miraculous reprieve but it would not last forever; once McGee would be back in DC, Volcano Vance would erupt again and this time, the Team Leader would not be protected any longer by the caution surrounding the Special Project. Gibbs had no doubts Tim would be showered with praises whereas he would have to answer for having contacted Butler, went to Afghanistan and interfered with General Stephenson's rescue operation, all this without the authorization of his immediate superior… leading to the death of four Marines and the nearly-killing of one of his own.

Nope, Gibbs would not get off the hook easily; he was living on borrowed time and he knew it. Vance may have turned a relative blind eye to his disobediences in the past, but the Team Leader had gone too far so the best thing to do was to prepare his teammates for his probable arrest, trial and imprisonment. Then he would put his affairs in order, sell the house and say goodbye to his father. Jackson Gibbs would be mortified learning his only son, the ex-Marine with the brilliant career, would be arrested within a few months for treason but it was better to break the news to his old man before the MPs would invade the only General Store of Stillwater, Pennsylvania!

Vance had sent word to the members of Team Gibbs that their Leader was back, and Gibbs had agreed to meet them in the conference room. It was very early in the morning; the building was deserted and none of the other NCIS agents knew about Gibbs' return, which he was fine with: no need to have unwanted witnesses of their reunion, especially since he bore bad news.

With both her arms around his neck, Abby was close to strangling Gibbs but the man endured this overwhelming demonstration of affection in an absent state of mind. He was thinking about the angry words Tim had told him at ISAF's hospital so he would not notice if the singer of the rock band KISS was hugging him.

_"You have only one surrogate son and his name's Tony."_

_"You have one adopted daughter, named Abby."_

_"You took Ziva under your wing simply because you couldn't resist her military training."_

_"The three of them live up to your standards."_

_"I don't."_

_"Well, fine!"_

_"I've got the message, loud and clear."_

_"Leave me alone!"_

"… So good to see you, my silver-haired fox!" boomed Abby's voice at his ear.

"Hunh? What?" groaned Gibbs, shaken from his reverie. He looked around and saw Tony staring at him with rounded eyes, Ducky looking perplexed while Jimmy was frowning in a supposedly severe way, but his youthful face was not helping. However, Gibbs did not react to the hug and remained unmoving, a worrisome attitude for Abby: he had never refused one of her hugs before and he did not have a Caf-Pow in hand to make amends about having left her behind, so what was going on?

"Gibbs! What's wrong? Aren't you happy to see me? I thought you'd be happy to see me, I was so worried after you left without any explanation!" said Abby with a strident voice, betraying her anxiety. "Did you ever stop to think about how worried I would be? Not a note, not an e-mail, not a text, nothing! You simply vanished from the face of the Earth! Why didn't you tell us anything? Why did you not tell _me_ anything? I have the right to know! And then, Tony tried to make me swallow a cock-and-bull story about you having left for Los Angeles with Ziva, but he's a worst liar than McGee so it didn't take me long to find out what you were really doing."

"And what was it, pray tell?" managed to ask Gibbs, concerned about possible leaks: Vance was already furious at him and the Director's ire would grow exponentially learning Abby had babbled about her deductions all around NCIS.

"You were with Ziva, yes, but in Afghanistan to rescue McGee!" said Abby with a triumphant look on her face. "The both of you left DC right after we've learned about the abduction, and then a few days later Vance announced us that McGee has been saved. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that you and Ziva had a hand in it but once the job was done, you flew right away to DC. Tell me I'm wrong, now? No, you cannot, can you? I was right all along. Oh, I knew you'd be back soon, I just knew it!"

Abby hugged Gibbs again with all her might but this time, she turned around and apostrophized Tony:

"See, DiNozzo? I told you Gibbs would come back from Afghanistan quickly, and you didn't want to believe me. Well, I've showed you! Next time, when I say something, you'd better listen instead of bragging about your Senior Agent status all the time. It's really getting bothersome!"

"Look who's talking," answered a grumpy Tony through gritted teeth. They all had been summoned by the Director at the crack of dawn; it was way too early in the morning for his tastes and he was not in the mood to assist to another round of Abby's over-enthusiastic number. Tony was genuinely relieved his mentor was back in DC unharmed but he had a million questions to ask and Abby was wearing his patience thin. He glanced around and he could see Ducky and Jimmy were equally exasperated by the Lab Rat monopolizing the attention, but what was more astonishing was the impatient look on Gibbs' face: the Boss was usually more lenient when it came to Abby's exuberance.

"All right, Abigail; now, maybe you should untangle your arms from around Jethro's neck to let him breathe, and give him a chance to explain us what had happened in the past few days."

"NO!" shrieked a still-embracing Abby. "I don't care about that; what's important is that Gibbs' here, with us!"

"Excuse me? I think we all want a quick rundown about what has happened recently!" protested Jimmy.

"And I'd like to inquire about Timothy's state of health," added Ducky.

"Yeah, and what about Ziva, Boss? Did she come back with you or has her lovely posterior been kicked all the way back to Tel-Aviv?"

Tony was interested in the ex-Mossad's whereabouts since a hint of jealousy was slowly developing inside his heart. If Ziva had stayed in Afghanistan, it could only mean she would remain at Probie's side come rain or shine and, considering the way she had defended the geek during his absence, there was a chance of romance developing between them. McGee was a total klutz when it came to the ladies, always falling for the wrong one whereas it had taken Tony only two seconds to notice the Israeli woman's beauty! He had relentlessly flirted with Ziva since her arrival at NCIS and, even if she had boyfriends (the infamous C-I-Ray, for instance), Tony knew it would be a matter of time before she would succumb to his ravishing good looks.

But both McGee and Ziva were in Afghanistan for the time being, far away from home and, more importantly, from Gibbs' rule no. 12, so…. Tony grinded his teeth in anger: the very idea of Probie charming Ziva, playing the sympathy card from having being abducted was revolting! McGee had no rights over Ziva! He was too clumsy, too paralyzed with fear and too goody-goody to even pretend being of interest for the sharp-as-her-knives woman – and Tony had not believed a word of Vance's report, about McGee overpowering the Taliban and neutralizing two traitors on his own. Probie would NEVER have done this without Gibbs and Ziva's help, and that was final!

Gibbs got himself out of Abby's embrace and then he gestured to his teammates to sit around the conference room's table. Abby blanched a bit at this display of coldness from her silver-haired fox, but she obeyed nonetheless: better to get on with whatever Gibbs had to tell them, so she would have plenty of time after to talk about Peterson filing a complaint against her – and what the Boss was going to do about it!

The Team Leader sighed deeply, betraying the need for coffee, and then he looked at his subordinates straight in the eye and said:

"As you can see, I'm back in DC after having done a little trip to Afghanistan with Ziva. I acted in complete illegality, and needless to say that Vance will have my hide for this. The only thing that has stopped him from throwing my sorry skin in jail at once is the secrecy surrounding McGee's project: Vance cannot file the necessary paperwork without a valid reason and since a top secret matter is involved, he has to wait until Tim comes back, but rest assured I will face a sacking, an arrest and probable prison time once the kid will step foot again in DC."

A stunned silence followed those words, and Gibbs added quickly:

"I'm taking full responsibility for everything that had happened. I'm the one who had the idea in the first place to overlook Vance's direct orders, so none of you will face charges – including Ziva. I'll write a statement telling I ordered her to come with me, and with a bit of luck she'll get out of this mess scot-free. I know some of you may resent not having being let into the secret…" Gibbs casted a significant glance towards Tony, "… but considering the pitiful results, I'm not sorry to have protected you from my reckless actions."

"Boss, you cannot be serious!" protested Tony, finally coming out of his initial shock. "Okay, so you've launched a rescue mission without Vance's blessings, but it's no big deal! You've organized commando actions out of your own will in the past and you've never been blamed for this, just like we did in Somalia and..."

"Not this time, DiNozzo. Vance is angry at me for the rescue mission but also because, months ago, I took the liberty to call a man I knew in the past, an ex-Marine who had turned mercenary and was in Afghanistan. I asked him if he could hang around the base McGee is stationed at, and tell me if the kid was faring well."

A collective gasp of surprise came from the audience, but Tony merely shrugged his shoulders:

"Okay, so you contacted an ex-Army buddy and asked him to babysit Probie. Here again, it's no big deal."

"Anthony, can't you realize what Jethro has done?" interrupted Ducky. "He deliberately told someone out of our little group about Timothy's presence in Kabul! It's a blatant breach of security, and Director Vance doesn't treat this kind of things lightly."

"But it was to protect Timmy! Gibbs was worried about attacks and he hired a bodyguard to protect Tim during his mission."

"It doesn't matter, Abigail. Whatever Gibbs' reasons were, they're not enough to justify such a dangerous initiative. Officers may have sons or daughters in the service but it doesn't give them clearance to ask questions, just to be sure their issues are in a safe place. God knows, it is very hard for parents not knowing the whereabouts of their children; in fact, it is their worst nightmare…"

"_It's 10 PM. Do you know where your children are?"_ quoted Tony with a sardonic smile.

"…and it is even harder for the ones with kids in the army," continued Ducky, ignoring the silly interruption. "Unfortunately, due to the secrecy surrounding military careers, parents have to sit and wait for months, hoping for news while dreading at the same time the visit of two soldiers in full uniform, bearing the worst letter ever written."

"Oh, Duck-man! Don't say those horrible things!"

"You can hardly work in a federal agency dealing with US Navy matters without thinking about it, Abigail. We may work in a comfortable, modern, clear building but we deal with dead Marines every day – remember my patients lying on the cold stabs of the morgue? They can hardly be called Halloween decorations! And their corpses are more than clues to be analyzed in your lab, stirring up your scientific curiosity. Behind every dead Marine there are grieving parents, and more than one has thought: _"If I had known where my child was, I would've rushed and saved him or her!"_ But that's an impossible wish and that feeling of powerlessness is sometimes too much to bear."

Abby shut her mouth but cast a dirty look at Ducky, resentful at the senior M.E. not only for having brought a bit of reality into her fantasy world, but also for having mentioned Halloween: the simple name of this autumnal celebration was a bitter reminder of the mega-party she had to cancel, thanks to her shortness of funds coming from McGee's treason. Gibbs rubbed at his eyes, repressing the urge to sigh again. The awful feeling of powerlessness… it had been the reason that had prompted him to pick up the phone and call Butler. Gibbs had simply refused to admit defeat after Vance had forbidden him the access to the MTAC room during McGee's weekly reports, and he had searched for another way to get news about his youngest son – with consequences that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

"My breaching security is not the worst part of it, Ducky. Butler, the man I foolishly trusted with the surveillance of McGee, was in fact a turncoat selling weapons to terrorists so they would kill as many Marines and innocent civilians as possible. But McGee's work thwarted the attacks – don't ask me how, I'm no computer genius – leaving Butler in deep trouble with his customers. But he somehow made the connection between McGee's presence in Kabul and the failing of his exploding devices, one after another. Desperate to recoup his losses, he had McGee kidnapped by the Taliban."

Jimmy hung his head, at a loss of what to say after such an account of terrible events: a simple phone call snowballing into the abduction of an undercover federal agent… No wonders why Vance was on the warpath! Ducky was devastated; this was simply a catastrophe, the kind Team Gibbs would not be able to recover from! A part of his brains was telling Ducky should have retired years ago, so he would not have to assist to Jethro's downfall – but his sensible side refuted this assertion: his friend was in dire need of help and the senior M.E. would provide his support, every step of the way.

Tony cleared his throat; he certainly had not imagined his Boss being in so deep trouble, and he was racking his brains to find a solution that would preserve Gibbs' hide – and his at the same time, since he would not last long around NCIS without his mentor's protection. As for Abby, she was also desperate in finding a solution: Gibbs would not be able to protect her from a prison cell, so they had to take actions against Peterson as soon as this reunion would be over. Her future depended on it!

"Boss… Look, it was sure an unwise move from your part, but I'm certain Vance knows you didn't mean any harm," said Tony. "Besides, you have redeemed yourself by finding McGee and saving him from the Taliban's clutches, with the help of our favorite knife-throwing ninja girl. That's something the Marines haven't been able to do so it will certainly speak in your favor."

"Vance told us that McGee has escaped from his abductors _on his own_, Tony," reminded Jimmy.

"Give me a break, Gremlin! Vance told us a tall story so he wouldn't have to admit Gibbs and Ziva were in Afghanistan, but I didn't buy it – no Sir, not for a minute. McGee suddenly finds five minutes of heroism and then he goes on a rampage and kills traitors and terrorists alike with his bare hands? When pigs fly, yeah!"

TWACK.

"Ouch! What was that for, Boss?" yelped Tony, rubbing his suddenly aching skull.

"For calling Vance a liar! The Director and I may not always see things eye to eye, but he's a straight arrow; he wouldn't tell lies just for the fun of it and you'd better remember it, DiNozzo. And for your information, McGee did escape by himself!"

"What, the terrorists were sleeping on the job?"

**TWACK.**

"OUCH!"

"Permission to murder Agent DiNozzo, Doctor Mallard?" asked Jimmy.

"Refused, Mister Palmer. I won't let a brilliant young doctor throw away his whole future for having killed the most stubborn, incredulous and denigrating agent the NCIS agency has ever had within its walls," said Ducky with a dignified tone.

"Boss…"

"**DiNozzo, if you value your teeth, you'd better shut your mouth very tightly before I punch them out! I won't let you disparage McGee's courageous actions for anything, **_**do you hear**_**?"**

Tony froze on his seat, barely able to comprehend the situation unfolding in front of him. _Gibbs was actually threatening him?_

"Now, before you say stupid things again, let me tell you this: Ziva and I arrived **a whole day** before the kid showed up at the base's courtyard. I caught a glimpse of McGee when he was wheeled away to the hospital: he had been beaten up within an inch of his life and he was covered with blood from head to toes – frankly, he looked like an escapee from a Nazi concentration camp! And yet, Tim managed to confound the traitor who had sold him to Butler, and he mutilated him in the way a tenor would become a soprano. After he came to, McGee told the whole story to the General in charge: about him killing Butler and the terrorists barring his way, and how he managed to entrap the survivors in their own cave after having fired a RPG launcher for the first time of his life – then again, with so much brainpower stored inside his skull, there're no many things in this world that can stop McGee!"

Tony remained agape at those words. So, Vance's charade had not been a charade at all? The fabled story of the escape was in fact true? McGee had truly done this fantastic feat, leaving way behind the past accomplishments of Very Special Agent DiNozzo?

"So Timothy did dispose of his abductors, and walked his way through the desert to his base, didn't he?"

"That's correct, Ducky," answered Gibbs, deliberately leaving the part played by Trent Kort in Tim's escape. He knew the minute he would mention this name, Tony would start an endless litany towards the CIA Agent/rogue/wild card/ all-around impossible man who had blown up his prized car and Gibbs was not in the mood to listen to his Senior Agent's woes.

"Tim managed to reach safety while cut off from all means of modern communication and alone in a hostile country; he didn't need my help or Ziva's to escape from the Taliban; our rescue mission was pointless in the first place, meaning I have seriously underestimated McGee."

"Well, that won't be anything new!"

"Mister Palmer…" said Ducky while clucking his tongue in disapprobation.

"No, Jimmy is right, Ducky. I've been a flop whenever McGee was concerned, and it will spell my doom as an Agent of NCIS."

"C'mon, Boss, let's not exaggerate. Vance may be in his element for the time being but once McRambo will finish whatever the heck he's cobbling together in Afghanistan, then he'll beg the Director to let you off the hook. McGee won't stand on the side and watch you being shot down in flames; he's incapable to work at NCIS without you keeping him on line!"

"Oh, he can't, DiNozzo? And what if I tell you that McGee's thingamabob is worth its weight in gold, and will protect Marines so efficiently that field hospitals will become obsolete? Do you really think a man able to build this kind of device still needs my help in doing his job as a federal agent?"

"What? You mean… He's **that** good?" asked Tony with an incredulous voice.

Gibbs became very close to imitate an eruption of Volcano Vance; the Senior Agent could be so dense at times, he would make a Buddhist monk lose his temper! But then again, the Team Leader knew that he had nobody to blame for this situation but himself: he had been the one who had riled, ridiculed or disdained McGee's intellect for years, and Tony was simply imitating him out of awe for his mentor. It would be pretty hypocritical of Gibbs to blame him for having adopted his ideas, especially since his word was Tony's law.

"Yes, DiNozzo, he's that good. He's even more than good; he's brilliant, resourceful and without a dishonest bone in his body, meaning I should have treasured his presence amongst us instead of letting my prejudices towards learned people make his life impossible at work. But it is too late to make amends: I talked to McGee about Butler and everything, but four Marines died during the abduction and they were his friends, so he refused to forgive me. Basically, he told me to go to Hell, to not bother to write, and to not show my face in Afghanistan again."

"What? But… Timmy's the most forgiving person in the entire universe!" exclaimed Abby.

"Well, not towards me, he isn't – not anymore and I cannot blame him, not for a second. Ziva wasn't happy with my actions either; she somehow convinced the man in charge to let her stay at the base to act as McGee's bodyguard. I couldn't order her to come back to DC with me, not after the goof I've done but I'm glad there's a reliable person watching over the kid. Ziva will do an excellent job protecting McGee and, if I had been smart, I'd have sent her months ago instead of calling Butler behind Vance's back. Now I don't give a hoot about being kicked out of NCIS or a stay at Guantanamo, but knowing I've hurt McGee so much… It's goddamned hard."

Gibbs shook his head in a vain attempt to chase Tim's angry words echoing inside his mind:

"_I don't forgive you."_

"_Tim…"_

"_Stop calling me that! Go back to DC, right now I cannot bear to look at you."_

Recognizing the haunted look in his friend's eyes, Ducky reached out and gently patted Gibbs on the arm in a gesture of comfort. Jimmy remained impassive, still too furious towards the Team Leader to move an inch. Tony was trying to wrap his mind around the fact that the man he had loudly called by the derogative nickname of _'Probie'_ for years was in fact way ahead of him, and Very Special Agent DiNozzo had never noticed a thing. Another blow to his investigator's skills…

Abby's face was turning pale in anger: Gibbs was threatened with prison time and McGee actually told him to go to Hell? The nerve of him! Oh, but McGee would pay dearly for all the disruptions he had caused within the team. Abby would give him a welcome-back reception he would never forget, and everybody around NCIS would learn that it was not safe to cross Abigail Sciuto. McGee would have to crawl on the bullpen's carpet and beg Gibbs to give him his job back, and then he would have to crawl on her lab's tiled floor to earn her forgiveness!

"Now, the wise thing to do for our team is to sit tight, and wait for McGee's return. In the meantime, we will carry on working on those cold cases. My imperiled career isn't a pretext to be sloppy on our jobs. DiNozzo, your next review board session is imminent so you'd better concentrate on what you're going to tell those people to convince them of your newfound professional wisdom. For the rest of you: no one at NCIS is aware of McGee's kidnapping and escape so let's keep it this way, as I'm certain Vance has already told you. Ziva's officially in LA and she'll remain here until Tim says otherwise. Okay, let's move it, people!"

Ducky rose slowly from his chair and headed towards the morgue, followed by Jimmy; Tony cast a glance at Abby but the Lab Rat remained rooted at the spot, apparently not in a hurry to go to her lab. The Senior Agent opened his mouth to ask what was she waiting for, but then he thought better of it and exited the conference room. He was still chewing over McGee's achievements and he needed to call his current girlfriend – a pair of Barbie doll's legs named Linda – to boost his morale.

Abby got on her feet and asked:

"Gibbs?"

"You should go downstairs to your lab, Abby," said the Team Leader, looking without seeing at the conference room's walls. He was feeling ten years older with the combined effects of jet-lag, lack of proper coffee and the tedious reunion.

"Please, Gibbs, I really need to talk to you… I've been waiting for ages to speak about what's happening. I'm desperate, you cannot abandon me!"

Repressing a sigh, the ex-Marine turned his blue gaze towards the Goth woman:

"Now what, Abby?"

"But, Gibbs… You haven't forgotten, have you? I mean, you've been busy with this rescue mission abroad and worrying yourself sick about Timmy and all that jazz but you cannot have forgotten Rick Peterson and his meanness, especially after he has turned my lab upside down!"

"Abby, I'm tired; could you cut to the point?"

"Gibbs! Peterson has filed a complaint against me!" exclaimed the Lab Rat with tears filling up her eyes at all speed. "He took advantage of you being distracted by Timmy to cry in Vance's office and then, lo and behold, I risk disciplinary actions! I wanted to tell you all about it, but you vanished with Ziva and I had no one to turn to. Even Tony wouldn't hear about my plight, he was too busy with the fluff of his navel to pay any attention to me – and by the way, I didn't appreciate the way he has been talking to me recently and I count on you to make him see the errors of his ways. We're supposed to be a team, yes or no? We're supposed to have each other's six, no matter what may happen and when I need you the most, I'm alone!"

"Abby!"

"Look, Gibbs, it's no big deal; go see Peterson and persuade him to withdraw his complaint. Just give him one of your trademark glares and he'll melt like ice cream under the sun. Peterson is a bag full of wind and it'd be fun to see him deflate and fly away like a party balloon. Besides, you cannot let him destroy my career, can you?"

The tears escaped from Abby's eyes to fall on her cheeks, but her waterproof mascara held on.

"Oh Gibbs, it would be simply awful! If Peterson manages to have me kicked out of NCIS, I'd have to find another job but with a letter of recommendation from Vance, I'll have to accept a teaching position in a run-down high school of the suburbs. Can you imagine me dealing with aggressive, hormone-driven kids all day along? They would turn my class into a madhouse before vandalizing my car! They would attack me as soon as I'd start writing on the blackboard! I will have to change my looks! They…"

"Calm down, now! There's still hope; you can overturn the situation, simply by apologizing to Peterson."

"NEVER!" exclaimed Abby, stomping her platform boot on the ground. "I'll NEVER apologize, especially not to Peterson! It's his fault, not mine! I'm innocent of all charges. And apologizing is a sign of weakness!"

The Team Leader made a grimace at the mention of his rule no. 6, and he could almost hear the voice of Sarah McGee in his ear, saying: _"Here goes another fine example of your teachings, Gibbs."_ But then he remembered another quote, this time from the Confucius book he had been reading before Tim's kidnapping: _"The noble-minded are calm and steady. Little people are forever fussing and fretting." _

The addition of both quotes made him jump: he could not let Abby make another memorable scene at NCIS; otherwise she would be shown the door before Peterson's complaint would have the chance to reach the appropriate channels. Abby may have acted the fool but it was nothing compared to his own recent actions and she was too dear to his heart for him to not help her. The loss of her job would destroy the Lab Rat as surely as a hydrogen bomb would, and Gibbs was not willing to lose another daughter.

"Please, calm yourself and listen to me," said Gibbs, grabbing the young woman by the shoulders. Abby instantly wrapped her arms around his neck and started sobbing on his shoulder in the earnest.

"Don't let Peterson do it, Gibbs! Don't let him destroy my career."

"Your career is safe, Abby. We'll find a way to preserve your position at NCIS. You're too good a scientist to be stuck in a dead-end job in a school and Vance knows it. He may not approve of your behavior, but your professional qualities outweigh your failings by the hundred. I haven't been able to think a lot about your case lately, but now I'm back and you have my undivided attention."

"You'll talk to Peterson?" asked Abby, sniffing loudly.

"Yes, all right, I'll talk to him. I don't know if I'll be able to persuade him to withdraw his complaint, but…"

"I'm sure you will! You're Gibbs and nobody can resist you."

The silver-haired man chuckled lightly, for the first time since the departure of his youngest son to a war zone. He returned Abby's hug, who sighed in relief.

"We'll see about that."

"It's a truism, Gibbs! You can solve everything. Oh, I'm so happy! As soon as I've learned you were back in DC, I knew I was saved and my job, too. Peterson may have though he was getting the upper hand but you and I will prove him wrong, and he'll rue the day he filled out that paperwork. Thank you, Gibbs, thank you! My silver-haired fox, my lucky charm – what would I've become without you? Nobody at NCIS can understand me as you do; you're the only one who has saw further than the Goth fashion and truly appreciated my work. Our team had its bad days for sure, but we're a great family to the core and we can't let it be destroyed by a creep like Peterson! But it's almost a done deal, now – you'll talk to Peterson, he'll withdraw his complaint and it'll be the end of it."

Gibbs said nothing, but doubt clouded his clear gaze… added with the unpleasant feeling that he had been had.

TBC…


	70. An affirmation

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

_- Swan Lake_ is a ballet written in 1875-1876 by Russian composer Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky (1840-1893).

- The _"Don't judge a book by its cover"_ quote was first stated by British author Mary Ann Evans who wrote under the pen name of George Elliot (1819–1880). It first appeared in her book _The Mill on the Floss_ (1860).

- To Tom Williams: thank you! Hope you'll like the McGiva in this chapter.

- To No name no age: I can understand your frustration; I'm having a hard time with some of the characters, too! xD

- To Jeika: old habits die hard, and Gibbs is too fond of Abby to say 'No' to her.

- To Guest: Peterson isn't impressed by Gibbs, so he won't withdraw his complaint. Uh-oh!

- To McGivaShipper: the McGiva is starting… and Abby will see the errors of her way!

- To RedDragen: thank you for your kind words! And yes, Abby will make one stupid move…

- To Hihey: Ziva is definitively staying with Tim in Afghanistan, as it is explained in this chapter.

- To earthdragon: Gibbs is learning the hard way that, even if you have paternal feelings towards some persons, it isn't an excuse to treat them like irresponsible children and to encourage competition.

- To Guest: Will Tim forgive Gibbs? Maybe, but it won't be easy… The story is updated every Saturday! ;o)

- To None: Abby will make a scandal on Tim's return, and it will spell her downfall! Oh well, she can't say nobody warned her…

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 70: An affirmation<strong>

_The next day at ISAF…_

"Ziva?"

The dark-haired woman stopped sharpening her knives at once and raised her head at the sound of Tim's voice: the young man had been sleeping for hours and she had steadfastly remained at his side, glaring at the medical staff during rounds and keeping her weapons on the ready, in case of another attack against her special man from terrorists or that evil Sergeant, whom she would have gladly strangled with her bare hands, but General Stephenson had forbidden Ziva to even approach Miller's room: botheration!

Doctors and nurses had been previously warned about the presence of a woman standing guard in Lieutenant McGee's room but, even if they had received the strict orders to leave said woman alone and to not talk to her, they would glance at her from time and time and exchange interrogative looks between them. Ziva had shrugged off their curiosity; the only person that mattered to her was Timothy McGee and people could stare at her as if she were a white elephant performing in the _Swan Lake_ ballet for all she cared – as long as the doctors would do their best for Tim.

Stephenson had come the day before with another man, a Lieutenant Rickenbacker from the Topography and Cartography Department, to question Tim about the place he had been held during his captivity. In spite of his great tiredness, McGee had managed to give a full description of the mountains where the rebels had settled, the positions of the Moon and stars he saw in the sky during his escape, and how he had followed the Cassiopeia constellation to find his way back to the base. Rickenbacker had carefully written down everything and stated that, thanks to Lieutenant McGee's testimony, they had good chances finding the terrorists' lair. That last comment had made Ziva inwardly glow with pride: even captured and beaten, Tim had acted like a true soldier, taking mental notes of his surroundings to provide Headquarters with precious information!

Stephenson had been very pleased, as well: before leaving the room, he had briefly patted McGee's shoulder and said: _"Get some rest, son; you've earned it!"_ Ziva also longed to see Tim back on his feet; the stone-like expression she wore in public would not betray her feelings, but in truth Ziva David was heart-broken by Tim's ordeal. It was awful to see the brilliant, caring, debonair young man lying so still on a hospital bed and covered with bandages and bruises. Tim was a good person, he deserved the world and it was revolting that low-life scum had dared to breathe around him. It had taken Ziva all her self-discipline to not storm into Miller's room and put an end to the repugnant man's life; she had wanted to cut him into the tiniest pieces ever and turn him into fertilizer, Stephenson's orders be damned! She even considered feeding the pieces of the Sergeant's body to stray dogs, but it would have been considered as an act of cruelty towards those poor animals.

As much as she had enjoyed imagining creative ways to murder Miller, Ziva did not want to lose her only chance to remain with Tim. She was already in deep trouble with Vance for having left DC without permission AND for refusing to come back from Afghanistan with Gibbs, so she was not keen to risk Stephenson' ire; having to deal with one angry superior was enough, thank you very much, so Ziva had stayed by Tim's bedside as he slept, sharpening her blades until they were as deadly as samurai's swords while silently praying for her friend's recovery. Judging from the green gaze slowly appearing between heavy eyelids, Ziva knew her prayers had been answered: Tim was getting better.

"Tim! How are you, _ahouve _(beloved)?"

McGee made a small grimace: he was stiff and sore; every bone in his body hurt, his heart was still bleeding from Aimee's loss and yet, he had to admit he was feeling a bit better, thanks to the combination of rest and medication – not to forget the presence of a loyal friend by his bedside.

"'m okay, I guess… thirsty."

Ziva quickly found a pitcher filled with water and a plastic drinking cup; she poured some drinking liquid in the cup, took a discreet sniff – in case of poison – and presented it to Tim. She slipped her hand under his neck to support his head as he drank the water; after a few gulps, he fell back against the pillows and whispered:

"Thanks…"

"Don't mention it, Tim. Do you want me to call the doctor?"

"No, I'm fine for the moment… I'd to proceed… what had happened, and to think about… what I'm gonna do next."

Ziva nodded in approval; she knew from experience that survivors of traumatic events needed some time to take stock of their situation before even considering rebuilding their lives. She remained silent for a moment, as she also knew Tim was probably thinking about Captain Wilkins, who had won his heart and paid a terrible price for helping wounded Marines. Ziva could not help but thinking Aimee must have been an exceptionally smart woman: she had been aware of Tim's goodness within only a few weeks and she had loved him straight away, whereas it had taken Ziva years and a stormy departure to finally open her eyes.

Aimee had been much more perceptive than her and Ziva felt a surge of anger again, but this time it was not towards the ghost of the dead Doctor: it was against herself! Instead of wasting her time with Ray and laughing along Tony's cruel jokes, she should have appreciated Tim's kindness, his courtesy, his constant helpfulness. But she had been too busy proving her tough-as-nails status to everyone around NCIS to take notice of the 'geek' constantly pushed around by Tony. Her father and Gibbs' good student, Ziva had considered love, compassion and humanity as weaknesses that impeded in your work and invariably led to your premature demise. Tim McGee certainly appeared 'frail' at first glance while standing next to an ex-Marine, an ex-cop and an ex-Mossad – but it was a major mistake to think so!

Ziva remembered a quote by George Elliot stating: _"Don't judge a book by its cover"_; she had loved it, and yet she had failed to apply it in everyday life. Tim was the strongest of their group and the best proof had been his departure: it had smashed Team Gibbs to smithereens, and the Israeli woman was not certain it would ever recover from such a blow.

"Ziva?"

"Yes, Tim?" asked the young woman, snapping out of her reverie.

"Is Gibbs still at ISAF?"

The question made Ziva frown slightly; she and Gibbs had not departed in the best terms and she would rather not think about the Team Leader for the moment. The major goof he had caused with that man Butler was simply appealing!

"No, he went back to DC yesterday. Why do you ask?"

Tim sighed, and started to fiddle with a corner of his blanket: "That's good, because I don't think I would have stood it if he were still around. He told me about him phoning Butler to ask him to be my bodyguard at a distance… He said he had no idea Butler was selling weapons to the terrorists, and that he would never have imagined his former acquaintance would kidnap me. I know it's true, but it doesn't erase the fact Gibbs deliberately disobeyed Vance's orders just to keep an eye on me… Simply because he's unable to imagine I can handle myself in a mission, in the US or abroad."

"Tim…"

"He doesn't have this kind of worries whenever you and Tony are involved in dangerous missions. Gibbs wouldn't have called a mercenary to keep an eye on you in Somalia, or during Tony's time in Iraq. But when it comes to me, it's different: Gibbs always thinks I need a baby-sitter, because I'm the weakest link of his team."

"Well, the events proved him wrong, and no two ways about it!" said Ziva firmly. "You have surpassed everything Tony and I have managed to do at NCIS."

"It's worthless to Gibbs' eyes. Whatever accomplishments I've made in Afghanistan, he'd still say it is nothing compared to his career in the Marines and at NCIS. The only ones that find favor to him are people with military or police backgrounds. I have neither, so trying to earn Gibbs' respect has been nothing but a fool's hope."

"What about Ducky? Gibbs respects him."

"Ducky has served at the Royal Army Medical Corps for years before he was hired at NCIS, so Gibbs is 'forced' to acknowledge his worth. Otherwise, if Ducky had remained a civilian MD all his life, Gibbs wouldn't have given him the time of day! Just look at the way he treats Jimmy: he constantly tells him to get lost when he wants to speak with Ducky; he doesn't give a damn about his professional opinion on murder cases; he even calls him a Gremlin to his face! Is that a way to treat a young Doctor, who has worked his way through medical school? Jimmy has seen more mutilated bodies than a war veteran and yet, he has never backed down from doing his job at the morgue. But Jimmy and I have the same unforgivable failing: no army or police past, so no respect. It's as simple as that; I've been an idiot ever imagining otherwise!"

"Tim! The world is bigger than Gibbs' prejudices, you know. A lot of people at NCIS hold you in the highest regards, especially Vance; General Stephenson thinks the world of you, it's as plain as the nose on his face! Ducky and Jimmy love you – and so do I," added Ziva, hoping Tim would not notice the faint red blush creeping on her cheeks. "Do you honestly think I would have crossed oceans and rivers just to rescue an unworthy man? You're my _friend_, McGee, and I don't give this title to other persons without meaning it. I told you once that I would skin alive whoever would hurt you and I always keep my word. I don't wear blades as fashion accessories!"

McGee had a small smile, remembering Ziva's prowess with knifes. It made him remember the Dark Dove's sheath and the words engraved on the leather: _"T. McGee, brother."_ Ziva David was certainly not the kind of woman to give her affection lightly and he was grateful for her friendship, which had become a lifeline to help him survive his ordeal and the loss of Aimee.

"I've named it after you."

"Excuse me?"

"The knife you've given me before I left for Afghanistan, remember? I gave it a name to remind me of you."

The ex-Mossad was astonished: Tim had given her name to a combat knife?"

"You call your knife _"Ziva David"_?"

"Actually, I call it _"The Dark Dove"_; I thought it would be the perfect nickname for your qualities: graceful and deadly."

Ziva had a brilliant smile, and Tim briefly thought she was indeed a beautiful woman. No wonders Tony had tried to lure her to his bed for years – the Senior Agent was convinced all the pretty women were destined to him, whereas Tim was doomed to be stuck with the thieves, psychos and other ne'er-do-wells that had ever crossed his path. He was the Probie, after all, so he had to deal with scraps while the Alpha Males of his team (namely Gibbs and Tony) enjoyed the best shares.

"I've heard you made major damages with the Dark Dove. Stephenson told us about you dealing with Butler and the terrorists before hitting Miller right where it hurts. Do I ever wish I could have seen this, it must have been _hachla_! (great)_"_ said Ziva with a dangerous gleam in her eyes. In fact, she was thinking that Miller's woes were not over, not if she had something to say about it…

"It's all thanks to you, Ziva: I wouldn't have been able to do it without your teaching in knife-throwing and your gift."

"I'd thank you to stop underestimate Timothy McGee, Mister: he's a good man, a genius and a great soldier – the kind of person I'd trust my life with."

It was Tim's turn to smile and he squeezed her hand, a gesture of affection that was promptly returned. Dear Ziva, she was a true friend…

"Do you still want to stay at ISAF, Ziva?"

"Of course! Why shouldn't I? You need someone to watch your back until you're a hundred percent back on your feet and Stephenson thinks I'm the right person for the job."

"I don't want to impose this on you, Ziva. I have to re-build the… the _thingie_ I was working on before it got destroyed during the attack, meaning I won't be able to go back to DC for several months. You love your life in America; you have a great future at NCIS but the longer you stay here at ISAF, the angrier Vance will be at you for going behind his back and it may jeopardize your career. Life at the base won't be easy for you; Stephenson can't grant you a fake military I.D. like mine and your presence around will make people ask questions – not to forget your good looks inevitably raising the enlisted men's… curiosity."

"Amongst other things?" asked Ziva maliciously, and she stifled a laugh seeing Tim's face turning red in embarrassment.

"Well, yes… and I don't want you to feel uncomfortable. God knows you can defend yourself and I don't doubt your fighting skills, not for a second but keeping an eye on me while fending off the unwanted attention of the male staff… It could become tedious, even for you."

"Tim, I'm not moving a centimeter from this chair. I've been in all-male military bases before and the few fools who tried to have their ways with me quickly found themselves at the business end of my knives, you understand? So put your mind at rest, _lev sheli_ (my heart), and concentrate on getting better. Mossad training has taught me to fight but also to be very discreet, shadow-like even with my good looks and, believe me or not, I've worked in places where not a man ever noticed me. Now, I want to see you on your feet and working your brains away on that Special Project of yours. Vance didn't tell us what it was and I don't want to know; besides, I probably won't understand a thing so it'd be a heavy waste of my time trying to figure out what it is. But I do realize this project is important and it is my duty to assist you so you can finish it without fearing attacks from inside or outside this base. There are a lot of people who want you back to America safe and sound; **I** want to see you in America safe and sound, so will you let me help you?"

Overwhelmed, Tim kissed the back of Ziva's hand, like he had done it during the time he had awakened at the base's hospital and had found the dark-haired woman sitting next to his bed.

"I'm indebted to you, Ziva."

"No, you don't. We're friends, and friends protect one another."

Ziva gently stroke Tim's hair, watching as her special man succumbed to sleep once again. She waited in silence until his breathing became slow and regular, and then she whispered:

"Timothy McGee, _ani ohevete otra_ (I love you)."

There, she had said it.

And after they would be back to the States, she would say it again but out loud, to his face, and in English!

* * *

><p><em>Later, at ISAF…<em>

A knock on an office's door.

"Enter!" called Stephenson.

The door opened and a banged-up Corporal Roberts stepped inside the General's office, saluted and stood stiffly to attention.

"Corporal Roberts reporting, Sir."

"At ease, Corporal. What news do you have?"

"Sir, I'm pleased to report you that the patrols have been able to find the exact place where Lieutenant McGee's has been held, thanks to his description of the mountains and the help of the Topography and Cartography Department. Sergeant Clark in charge of the patrols located the pile of rocks signaling the entrance of the enemy's cavern; once the rocks were cleared out, the men found five terrorists."

"Any resistance?"

"None whatsoever. The enemies have been locked up in this cavern for almost a week, surviving on bread crumbles and very little water. They were reaching the point of starvation and wouldn't have been able to swat out a fly. Some of them even surrendered willingly, in exchange of food!"

"So McGee did a good job sealing them inside their lair, didn't he?"

"He did a right proper job, Sir. The enemy tried to push the rocks blocking the entrance but they didn't have a chance without a mechanical shovel and the lack of nutrition did the rest. They would have turned to cannibalism if our men hadn't showed up in time; those guys are not as tough as they pretend to be!"

"We have five prisoners, then. Roberts, I want them to receive food and medical attention; once the doctors will give the clear-up, I want to interrogate them personally. Call for every interpreter available and tell them to stay on the alert."

"One prisoner could be most interesting to question, Sir," said Roberts with an unusual steel-like quality in his voice. "He's likely to be the enemies' chief. I overheard another terrorist calling him _"Farhad"_."

Stephenson's eyes widened in surprise: "Farhad? You mean _**Farhad Wardak**_?"

"I dunno his last name, Sir, but the Farhad in question was pretty pissed off at his man for calling him out loud in front of us. He would have punched the guy's lights out if he had any strength left in him."

Stephenson frantically searched through the papers of a file on his desk, and then he took out a black-and-white photograph and showed it to the Corporal.

"Is it this person?"

Roberts took a good look at the man on the picture: he was about forty years old and was dressed in the traditional fashion: Shalwar pants, Kameez shirt, Pakol cap, checkered scarf and black waistcoat. He was holding a Kalashnikov rifle, obviously a souvenir of the Russian invasion of 1979, and was smiling malevolently at the camera. He looked a lot healthier on the picture and his beard was immaculately kept, but Roberts had no doubts it was the same man actually cooling his heels at the prison's infirmary.

"Yes, Sir. That's him."

"DAMMIT!" roared Stephenson. "Farhad Wardak! The Allied forces have been trying to find him for years!"

"What?" asked a startled Roberts. "You mean… Lieutenant McGee has been captured by one of our most wanted?"

"Exactly, Corporal. Farhad Wardak is a nasty piece of work; he fought against the Russians during the invasion, and then in 1989 he decided to become rich by selling opium, right after having enslaved the population of nearby villages. Peasants refusing to grow poppies for him would see their families gunned down before their eyes, and he grew a reputation as the most feared drug lord. But rivals managed to overpower him and his poppy fields were destroyed by fire. Farhad then started trafficking anything he could get his hands on: weapons, women, children, medication, food, you name it. In 2009 he was arrested by the Afghan National Police during a raid: his prostitution ring was dismantled, and he was sent to jail. That's where he met the Taliban, who entrusted him to fight the Allied forces but… without giving him the means to do so. Apparently, the Taliban leaders were quite aware how money-hungry Farhad is, so they threw him a pittance as they didn't want **their** cash to end in **his** pockets. Farhad felt insulted, and decided another kind of side-line business would pour gold in his accounts: kidnapping."

"Oh, my God…"

"That's right, Roberts. Farhard started by snatching young girls on their way to school and extorting a ransom from desperate parents. Then he moved to kidnapping adults for bigger money – businessmen, doctors, politicians… We've been working with the Afghan National Police ever since to find him, but the surviving victims were too scared or too suspicious of Westerners to press charges. Farhad grew a fortune but it wasn't enough for him, so he decided to change targets: foreigners, mostly relief workers, would assure him of a comfortable income. Remember that attempted kidnapping against two members of the Red Cross, a year ago?"

"I do, Sir! Two women, a British and an American, were attacked in the Helmand Province while visiting a school."

"Yes, and unfortunately for the bandits, the said women had bodyguards who opened fire against the kidnappers. One of them got wounded and was left for dead, while his accomplices fled like the proverbial rats. The wounded man survived long enough to give the name of his boss: Farhad Wardak, who went underground after this failure. But his money ran out and it must have been during his time Butler recruited him to organize McGee's snatching, since he couldn't do it on his own. McGee managed to understand a few words of Pashtu during his captivity, and he clearly heard Farhad referring to him as an _"American lord"_. Doubtless Butler had filled Farhad's greedy head with lies about McGee being rich, and the gutless bastard thought he had finally hit pay dirt."

Roberts' usual amiable face was set in granite after hearing the long list of Farhad's victims; coupled with the names of the Marines killed or wounded during the attack – not to forget his own near-brush with death – there would be a ski resort in Hell before Farhad Wardak would see the light of day again…

"There is one last thing, Sir."

"Yes?"

"Our men cleared the cavern of every weapon and document they could get their hands on, but they also found something crushed under the big pile of rocks at the cavern's entrance… the body of a Westerner, Sir. Lieutenant McGee said in his testimony that man Butler was talking on the phone outside the cavern just before he killed him, so…"

"…It was Butler's body the Marines found mangled under the rumble," completed Stephenson.

"A formal identification will be needed, but there's a high chance it's him, Sir. Sergeant Clark told me the man had a stab wound in the neck, which coincides with Lieutenant McGee's story. The men also found a mobile phone that is still intact; if Butler's fingerprints are on it, it is likely that it belonged to him. And if a number on the memory card is Sergeant Miller's, then we'll have the absolute proof Butler was in cahoots with one of ours."

"Miller is _**not**_ one of ours for much longer, Roberts. Never have, never will be. He's a disgrace and he will be treated accordingly for what he did to McGee, Wilkins and to you!"

"Thank you, Sir," said Roberts sincerely.

"Did the Marines bring Butler's body back?"

"They sure did, Sir – it's currently at the morgue, and Captain Williams has started proceeding it. We shall have the fingerprints anytime, but it's uncertain we'll get dental identification, considering the state of the head…"

"Fingerprints will suffice. You are dismissed, Roberts, and for Heaven's sake get some rest. You still haven't recovered fully from your wounds, as you are quite aware of."

"Aye-aye, Sir!"

Roberts saluted – a bit uneasily – and turned heels before disappearing behind the office's door. Stephenson shook his head at this display of stubbornness, and then he looked at Farhad's photograph again and his eyes turned as hard as flint stones.

"_You bastard. You absolute bastard!" _thought the General, his face livid in anger. _"You're the one who has orchestrated the attack; you killed my men; you kidnapped McGee! You shook hands with Butler and snatched away Tim, for no other reason than greed – without even realizing Butler was playing you like a pianist plays a concert. Bloody fool, you didn't have a chance in the world to ever see the money you coveted: Butler had a hidden agenda and he have gunned you and the flea bags passing for your accomplices as soon as Tim would have talked about The Watcher! But Tim outsmarted the whole goddamned bunch of you losers: he's alive while you're all dead or will be pretty soon. The Watcher is safe. The Marines and the civilian population will be protected against bombs and snipers. You lost, Farhard, and you'll pay for what you've done but you and Miller will never pay enough for having dared to hurt my son!"_

TBC…


	71. A session - part 4

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- A shorter chapter this week… This is the Feast of Lights celebrations in my hometown Lyon and I'm gonna watch the shows and fireworks! XD

- The Three Stooges was a comedy group formed by actors Moe Howard (1897-1975), Curly Howard (1903 – 1952) and Larry Fine (1902 – 1975).

- The Nobel Prize is a set of annual international awards in recognition of cultural and/or scientific advances, established by Swedish inventor Alfred Nobel (1833 – 1896).

- American actress Louise Fletcher (b. 1934) won an Oscar for her interpretation of Nurse Ratched in the _One flew over the cuckoo's nest_ movie (1975).

- To No name No age: I'm sorry about the anxiety… but I'm pleased you're enjoying the story so much!

- To Friend: yes indeed, Gibbs isn't out of the woods yet.

- To Misty: this is a McGiva story so there's a good chance Ziva will stay at NCIS.

- To Azzzzzz91: thank you very much! XD

- To Jeika: Tim and Ziva will soon speak the same language… The language of love.

- To Corala: oh yes, Tim is going to need a lot of help to heal, both physically and mentally.

- To RedDragen: I don't think Sarah will make an appearance soon, but Abby's posterior is going to be kicked for certain!

- To None: Tim is unaware Ziva's sentiments have changed from brotherly affection to love, but he's a smart guy so he'll figure it out.

- To McGivaShipper: you're right, Captain Rickenbaker is a nod to the WWI flying ace!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 71: A session – part 4 <strong>

_One week later, at NCIS…_

"Please state your full name and rank for the record."

"Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo Junior, NCIS."

Tony flashed his million-dollar smile while identifying himself and his attorney, Fred Fairbanks, repressed the urge to roll his eyes heavenwards. DiNozzo should know from the previous meeting that his charming act would be useless against Agents Carter, Sewell and Stephens!

The Senior Agent had taken great care of his appearance: an expensive shirt coupled with an intense-blue tie, under a charcoal-gray suit without a visible crease and shoes with such a glossy shine it looked like they had been varnished. One could think it was a bit too much but this time Tony had dressed in prevision of his future success. He was certain this last hearing would be a slam dunk: for the past six months, he had dutifully done his paperwork and he had followed all kind of workshops…. At the risk of dying of boredom!

More than once, he had nearly missed to yawn his head off during those interminable lessons but Tony was clever enough to hide his disinterest from trainers. Likewise, he had avoided trying to charm the female Agents attending the workshops in an attempt to prove he was a 'good student' and dutifully applying his recently-acquired knowledge in real life – fat chance! – in order to improve his professional skills – they never needed improvements in the first place – and prove to the review boarders that he was back on the straight and narrow path – he had never left it! However, Tony had played the game to the full: he had not missed one single day of those workshops; he had filled tons of cold cases in both the IT system and the Archives Department; he had even made believe the bruises he had sustained from Ziva's wrath at the morgue had come from a failed attempt at a car-jacking, earning a bit of sympathy from the other agents in the process.

Tony felt a shiver running up his spine at the thought the reasons for Ziva's partial destruction at Ducky's lair could have reached the ears of Director Vance or, even worse, the members of the review board. But nothing had happened, and it could only mean Gibbs had convinced Sam Elliott the MTAC tech to keep quiet; Ziva must have drawn a big check to cover the damages and Ducky had managed to convince Vance that the destroyed equipment had been a consequence of his compromised sense of equilibrium. It had been a close call, very close indeed but in the end things had turned up for the best: the very good news of McGee's miraculous escape, followed by Gibbs' return a few days later, had calmed down Vance over the embarrassing matter of Gibbs and Ziva going AWOL. During this whole mess, Tony had kept a very low profile, flying under the radar to escape the Director's rage and it had worked to the perfection. Score One for DiNozzo!

Tony had been overjoyed to see Gibbs back at NCIS, but he was not optimistic enough to imagine his Team Leader would not be punished for his little escapade abroad. On the evening of the meeting at the conference room, Tony had paid Gibbs a visit at his house, with a bottle of Bourbon in one hand and an offer to listen to whatever confidence the older man had wanted to make, with the reassurance that their conversation would remain secret. Gibbs had accepted the Bourbon but refused the offer to pour out his heart; Tony's insistence had been dealt with a definitive _"Drop it, DiNozzo"_ and their only talking point had been his imminent session with the review board. In the end, Tony had gone home pretty disappointed, as he had been convinced Gibbs would tell him everything that had transpired in Afghanistan once they would be safely away from the NCIS building. They were mentor and protégé, almost father and son, so Tony was entitled to know everything about Gibbs and vice versa!

"I am Frederick Fairbanks, Agent DiNozzo's legal advisor," said the lawyer, interrupting Tony's reverie.

"Agent Sewell, please note in the minutes the presence of Attorney Fairbanks, and also that Agents Carter and Stephens are attending this third session of the review board," said Agent Carter, looking more severe than before with her hair pulled up in a bun so tight it seemed the blond strands were going to detach themselves from her skull any minute.

"Now, Agent DiNozzo, following our previous meeting you have been demoted from Senior Field Agent to Junior Agent, assigned to do paperwork and instructed to follow workshops in order to improve your professional skills. Have you followed those courses?"

"Indeed I did, Agent Carter," said a smiling Tony, who was inwardly seething with rage at the sight of the woman who had dared to call him an office clown. "I followed a vast range of courses and the workshops' trainers have scored them on this certificate of attendance, presented to you by my attorney, Mister Fairbanks."

Fairbanks took a document out of his briefcase and got on his feet to present it to Agents Carter, Stephens and Sewell. Tony noted with a hint of fear that the Three Stooges did not seemed impressed by his achievements. But what did they expected, him winning a Nobel Prize?

Stephens put down the document on the table facing him and looked at Tony from his gold-rimmed glasses: "This is indeed a long list of workshops, Agent DiNozzo. However, I'm not convinced that you've truly learned from them."

"WHAT? What do you mean? I've followed those courses from A to Z!" exclaimed a startled Tony. "As you can see, the trainers have all signed my certificate of attendance!"

"Yes, they did, Agent DiNozzo. But you seem to forget those trainers also have to fill up reports on their students once the workshops are over, and then send it to the HR Department. We have a copy here, and your participation has not been noted favorably. Agent Sewell, if you could read out loud the trainers' appreciations about Agent DiNozzo's general behavior during the workshops?"

Sewell, the grey-haired man, took a file lying on the table and opened it to read: _"Agent DiNozzo has not shown a lot of interest during the First-Aid on the Field class… He hardly participated and acted as if he knew all about first-aid whereas it was obvious he barely knew how to treat an injury and didn't show a lot of empathy towards the wounded…"_

"Hold it right here!" objected Tony. "There were no real wounded; it was role-playing! I wasn't supposed to feel sorry for people who were faking injuries, now, was I?"

"Role-playing, Agent DiNozzo, involves you fully endorse the role of a rescuer, including the empathy he normally feels towards someone crying for help. Agent Walker, who was in charge of this class, has been shocked by your indifference; you behaved as if the "wounded" person deserved his or her plight because he or she hasn't been "good enough" on the job."

"So I'm a bad actor; sue me," grumbled Tony.

"**You **admit being a bad actor? Now, that's surprising," said Agent Carter. "As I recall, during our first session you have boasted about, and I quote, _"your abilities to endorse roles for undercover missions __at the drop of a hat, and this talent has proved to be invaluable for solving cases, according to my Team Leader."_ I'm having a hard time believing a man who can do extremely good improvisations in front of suspects suddenly loses all his acting talent during a first-aid workshop."

Tony gritted his teeth in frustration: damn the woman, she must have learned all their previous conversations by heart!

"Well, that's precisely the problem, Agent Carter," counter-attacked DiNozzo. "You see, the first-aid workshop didn't provide me with the pressure I need to be a very good actor. The stakes are high for me but also for my teammates when we face killers, terrorists or trafficker – that's at this moment that I feel the adrenaline rush coursing inside my bloodstream; it gives me a clear view of the situation and ideas starts bursting inside my head like popcorn. I smart-talk the suspects and they always end up believing whatever tall story I have concocted; some of them would have eaten in the palm of my hand! It gives enough time for my team to regroup and subdue the suspects who are usually heavy-armed. Like I've said, my improvisation talent has saved the hides of my colleagues more than once and Special Agent Gibbs, our Team Leader, has said many times that my silver-tongue has made the day."

"So you give your 100% only during extremely dangerous situations? Unfortunately for you, Agent DiNozzo, this kind of occurrence is rather rare – which may help to explain your nonchalant attitude in normal, quiet, peaceful times."

"But…!"

"Please continue to read, Agent Sewell."

"Next, we have the Sexual Harassment in Working Places workshop. Agent Rochereau in charge of this class has noted _"Agent DiNozzo constantly trying to repress sniggers whenever images of women being harassed during work were projected on a screen..."_

"Oh, come on, now!" interrupted Tony. "I didn't mean anything at all. I was just laughing because the actresses playing the roles of victims looked absolutely ridiculous on the slides!"

"But here again, your attitude was deeply resented by fellow classmates. You see, some of them had been harassed at work before or after being hired at NCIS, and were going through a long process of healing. This workshop was one step forward to regain their self-confidence but your laughing made them believe you were openly mocking their past sufferings – and it doesn't concern only women, Agent DiNozzo. There were men in your group who had also been victims of harassment, and they don't find it amusing to see you laughing like an idiot at images which were a sad reminder of what they have been through."

Tony was starting to feel very uncomfortable; apparently, the hiding of his hilarity during workshops had not been as efficient as he had originally thought. He glanced at Fairbanks, who was looking displeased by the minute, and silently asked him to intervene but the attorney seemed to be at a loss of what to say.

"Carry on, Agent Sewell."

"Then, we have the NCIS Rules and Regulations class, in which the trainer had noticed _"Agent DiNozzo almost dying of boredom… sitting at the back row of the class and dozing near the heater."_ There's also the Teamwork Development workshop, for which Agent Walker wrote about _"Agent DiNozzo looking barely interested by the lecture"_, followed by the Comportment towards Victims class: according to Agent Fingleton, _"Agent DiNozzo is clearly unable to make contact with victims of violent crimes: he's too impatient to conduct an interrogation adequately. His opinion is that time is the essence in murder investigations and so, it shouldn't be wasted in subtleties; however, it isn't an excuse to brusque traumatized witnesses!"_

"Hey, wait a minute!" interrupted Tony for the second time. "I don't brusque anyone; I'm just trying to get information that could lead us to the arrest of perpetrators and the sooner, the better. Killers won't sit and wait for us until we arrest them, you know! They flee like the proverbial rats and it is my job to bring them to justice. My Team Leader, Special Agent Gibbs, thinks like me: we may look rude on the outside but the truth is, we're trying to catch murderers and every second counts. One minute wasted is another chance earned by a suspect to get the Hell out of Dodge, and we would have to explain to the victims' families that a murderer has slipped away from our fingers because we were having a tea party with "traumatized witnesses". It also explains our high crime-solving rate, the best of NCIS!"

"So, you're admitting being rude towards witnesses is a way for your team to maintain a high crime-solving rate?" asked Agent Stephens with a sardonic smile.

"That's not what I've said! You're twisting my words and I hate that!"

"Agent DiNozzo, keep calm!" said Fairbanks. "Anger is a bad advisor."

"_You're _the poor advisor," shot Tony back.

"Indeed, Agent DiNozzo, you seem to have a deep hate of having your words twisted, and yet you have no scruples twisting those of other people – Agent McGee's, for example. But I digress… Agent Sewell, could you finish reading the reports to us?"

"Certainly, Agent Carter. The last entry concerns the Respectful Attitude towards the Dead and Agent McCreary has written _"Agent DiNozzo clearly doesn't respect the living, so why should he respect the dead? He claimed his attitude is a way to avoid being too affected by violent deaths but I didn't buy it for a second."_

"Not exactly a brilliant result, isn't it, Agent DiNozzo?"

"Agent Carter, you have to keep in mind that Agent DiNozzo **did** follow all the courses you ordered him to take after the second session of the review board," said Fairbanks. "During his probationary time, Agent DiNozzo has dutifully done his paperwork, went to classes and stayed at his desk without trying once to transgress orders. His demotion from Senior Field Agent to Junior Agent has been a hard blow to his professional pride, and yet he never once complained about his situation – neither to his Team Leader nor to Director Vance. It is safe to conclude Agent DiNozzo has earned his lesson and the workshops he attended will help him to improve his skills, even if his attention in class can be subjected to caution…"

It was Agent Carter's turn to interrupt: "Agent DiNozzo has never tried to transgress orders during his probationary period, you say?"

"Well, yes…" said Fairbanks, a bit taken aback.

"Really? You seem unaware of sme recent developments, Mister Fairbanks. Maybe your client hasn't been straightforward with you?"

The attorney turned towards the Senior Agent and asked in a low voice: "What is she talking about?"

"Dunno," answered a livid Tony.

"Mister Fairbanks?" asked Stephens out loud.

"Er… I'm sorry, Agent Carter, but Agent DiNozzo doesn't seem to know what you mean."

"Actually, Mister Fairbanks, I think your client is getting a pretty good idea of what I'm talking about… It's a bit surprising he hasn't talked to you about a peculiar incident that had happened at NCSI a few months ago but then again, maybe he has shrugged off the whole matter or brushed it under the carpet, in the hopes that we members of the review board wouldn't be aware of it."

"Please, Agent Carter: what is your point?"

"I'm talking about the fact that your client has de-li-be-ra-te-ly disobeyed Director Vance's direct orders to **not** enter in contact with Agent McGee while he was abroad, by any means or under any circumstances whatsoever. But we know from a reliable source that Agent DiNozzo forced his way to the MTAC room, right after Director Vance had finished a videoconference with Agent McGee."

Fairbanks turned horrified eyes to Tony, who somberly thought Agent Carter was indeed making a nice imitation of the infamous Nurse Ratched from the _One flew over the cuckoo's nest_ movie.

"Is it true?" asked Fairbanks in a low voice.

"Yeah, it's true. But it was no big deal! I just wanted to speak to McGee, to see if he was okay."

"Mister Fairbanks?"

"My client admits having entered the MTAC room without permission to speak to Agent McGee, but it was just out of concern for his safety," said the attorney in an attempt to salvage the situation. "As you know, murder investigations create close friendships between federal agents, helping them to endure the horrors they witness while processing crime scenes or to survive gunfights. Agent DiNozzo was having a hard time enduring the absence of his partner, and…"

"You've been mislead, Mister Fairbanks. According to our source, Agent DiNozzo didn't break into the MTAC room (after having assaulted a tech) to speak to Agent McGee just because he was missing him. No, he acted out of pure malice: once he had access to the com link, Agent DiNozzo wasted no time telling his colleague that he wasn't missed at all; that his teammates were better off without him; and, on top of everything, that he was dating another member of their group, namely Special Agent Ziva David."

"Excuse me, Agent Carter, but this is irrelevant. Special Agents DiNozzo and David's relationship is of no business of…"

"Oh, it is relevant, Mister Fairbanks. It is, because and still according to our source, there wasn't a relationship to begin with. **Agent DiNozzo has lied to Agent McGee's face** just to, and I quote here again, _"tease him"_, regardless of the fact he was doing a superb job in demoralizing his colleague."

Tony made an inward vow to beat the living daylights out of Samuel Elliott, the pathological whistleblower!

"But this "teasing plan" backfired badly," continued Agent Carter. "Not only Special Agent Gibbs was profoundly displeased by the action of Agent DiNozzo, but it also provoked the ire of Special Agent David, ending in the partial destruction of the morgue supervised by Doctor Donald Mallard. Apparently, Agent David has quite a temper and a short patience towards rumor-spreaders and liars. The settlement of this incident has been temporarily put on 'hold' by Director Vance, upon the reason that it would be dealt with on the return of Agent McGee."

"Excuse me, Agent Carter, but how can you be sure that your source is reliable? For all we know, you could be citing hearsay so…"

"Oh, our source is definitively reliable, Mister Fairbanks, and our information doesn't come from any person involved in this incident. It's a person who has witnessed the whole incident at the morgue: Agent Gibbs and his team were completely unaware of her presence in the corridors."

Tony jumped slightly on his seat: _her_ presence in the corridors? The one who had told on him to the review board members was a _woman_? Sam Elliot was innocent, then – but who could be the mysterious informant?

"She overheard the whole story from out of Agent DiNozzo's mouth, when he was interrogated by both Agent Gibbs and Doctor Mallard, and then she witnessed Agent David's reaction. Considering her trademark violence, our source fled the scene and then contacted her superior about that disturbing matter, who in turn contacted the Human Resources Department, which transmitted us their written statements."

"Look, just like I've told Gibbs, I didn't mean any harm in doing this," said Tony. "Teasing McGee is like second nature to me and I was missing our daily friendly banter…"

"Don't you mean you were missing having the opportunity to administrate a daily dose of insults to Agent McGee, regardless of how harmful it could be for your colleague?" asked Sewell, his grey eyebrows knitting one against the other.

"I told you before that it was to toughen him! Besides, it's not the point; Director Vance didn't want us to have contact with McGee and we were all missing him like crazy so yeah, I roughed up the com tech a bit to finally have the possibility to speak to McGee directly, instead of wasting our time waiting for Vance to feed us tiny scraps of information. I wanted to see for myself if my colleague was faring well – so I could share this piece of news with Gibbs and David – and then our friendly banter got the best of me. But it was a conversation between two buddies, that's all!"

"_A conversation between friends, and that's all"_? Do you actually think we would be this gullible, Agent Di Nozzzo?"

"No! It's just that…"

"Agent DiNozzo, we members of the review board committee are not interested in your excuses," said Stephens. "You have been given the opportunity to save your career at NCIS, provided you would respect our orders and your Director's to the letter but this incident at the MTAC room has proven that you are a danger to yourself and the other members of NCIS."

"Hold on a minute!" exclaimed Fairbanks. "You cannot ignore my client's impressive record of solved cases, plus the fact that he has followed many classes during his probationary period. It is undeniable that Agent DiNozzo has gained a considerable knowledge over the years and it would be a great loss for this federal agency to lose an employee of this caliber."

"_Finally awakening, Fairbanks? It's about time!" _thought Tony.

"Actually, we think this agency would gain a lot **more** by sacking Agent DiNozzo, Mister Fairbanks," said Agent Carter. "However, Director Vance has asked us to not resort to such extreme measures, mostly because he knows Special Agent Gibbs would resign from the moment Agent DiNozzo would be shown the door, and the loss of two agents would be a bitter blow to the MCRT unit. But we cannot let Agent DiNozzo's reckless actions to remain unpunished; once more, once again he has proven his refusal to follow orders, making him a liability in both the office and the field."

"Consequently, Agent DiNozzo, and considering the number of workshops you have attended since we've last met, we have no other choice than to re-instate you in the position of Senior Agent…"

Tony would have kissed his attorney out of the relief he was feeling at the news. He was a Special Agent again! His career at NCIS was saved, and his little stunt had not ruined anything!

"… But you'll notice that I've said _"Senior Agent"_ and not_ "Senior Field Agent"_, finished Agent Sewell.

Tony's enthusiasm collapsed like a bad soufflé.

"W-What do you mean?"

"I mean that you are a Senior Agent again, but you're not allowed to go out on the field. Your job will be to remain inside the NCIS building, catching up on paperwork and provide your teammates with information found on-line while they investigate crime scenes."

"**WHAT? NO! That's McGee's job!"**

"Not any more, it is!"

"YOU CANNOT CHAIN ME TO A DESK! Senior Agents who stay inside are the ones who are too old, or with family obligations, or with a health condition. I'm don't fit into this mold, so how in the world do you expect me to explain to the other agents why I cannot work on the field anymore? I'll be the laughing stock of the whole agency!"

"Ah, but you see, Special Agent DiNozzo, we'll be able to keep an eye on you while you are inside the building. Because this decision of the review board committee is based on the truism that you cannot be left on your own; you need permanent supervision and the best place for this is to keep you at the bullpen at all times."

"NO! YOU CANNOT! I REFUSE TO BE SIDELINED! I'M A MAN OF ACTION, NOT A GODDAMNED PEN-PUSHER SITTING ON HIS FAT BUTT!"

"Our decision is irrevocable, Agent DiNozzo," said Agent Carter, interrupting Tony's protests. "Instead of complaining, you should count yourself lucky to still have your job."

"Of course, you can appeal to this decision, but let us inform you right now that it would be a waste of time," added Agent Stephens.

"BUT HOW ON EARTH DO YOU WANT ME TO FIND CLUES ON THE NET IN THE BLINK OF AN EYE? I DON'T HAVE A DEGREE IN COMPUTERS, UNLIKE McGEE!"

"Yes, well, maybe you should have learned a few things from your junior colleague instead of giving him a hard time just to prove your pseudo-superiority. But considering your past attitude towards your colleague, it is highly unlikely that Agent McGee would agree to train you," said Agent Sewell.

"Don't look so glum, Agent DiNozzo: you can still sign up for another workshop!" concluded Agent Carter.

TBC…


	72. Author's note

**To my dear readers and reviewers:**

I have been writing this story for 18 months now, and wouldn't have gone this far without your steadfast support and encouragements. You have greatly helped me with the plot and the description of the characters. It gives me a warm feeling in the heart knowing you are enjoying the OC characters as much as the NCIS-trademarked ones!

I am sorry to announce you that I have to put this story on 'hold': the results of my MA dissertation have not come up to my expectations. Long story short, I have to rewrite the whole thing and present a new copy in May 2014. To say I am disappointed and discouraged is an understatement! :o(

You will understand I cannot concentrate on both the dissertation and the story, since English is not my native language and writing new chapters is always a challenge – not to forget that I work full-time!

Hence, this story is on hold… but I am resolute in posting new chapters in May.

Again, I am sorry to disappoint my marvelous readers and reviewers, and all the kind people who have put this story on their Favorite lists. But sometimes, RL comes and bites you on the… posterior.

Best regards,

Rose de Sharon


	73. A dedication

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- A huge THANK YOU to my wonderful readers and reviewers, who have sent me kind messages of encouragement during these five months of hiatus. It has been a long, tedious winter but finally the new version of the dissertation has been sent. I don't have any fingernails left to chew on, but I'm too tired for the moment to worry about the outcome! xD

- This chapter takes places four months after Tim's painful return to ISAF following his abduction.

- The translation in Hebrew is from Fonebrew.

_- Rebecca_ (1938) is a novel by English author Daphne du Maurier (1907–1989).

- Christian Nestell Bovee (1820 – 1904) was an epigrammatic New York writer.

- To Saissa: please consider this chapter as an early birthday present, LOL!

- To VFSNAKE: happy belated birthday! I hope you've had a very nice time.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 72: A dedication <strong>

_At ISAF…_

Corporal Roberts was on his usual mission as General Stephenson's eyes and ears, even if at first glance he was innocently eating his meal at ISAF's mess hall. The Corporal was seated at the end of a table, with nobody facing him or seated next to him, and he looked like he was actually enjoying the ugly mess of mince meat, mashed potatoes and peas the new cook had unceremoniously dropped on his metallic tray before barking '_Next, please_!' in the general direction of the soldiers queuing for their meal.

Years in the service had immunized Roberts' taste buds against army chow and besides, he had packages of food stacked in his trunk. Belinda, his wife, had been frantic of worry about him after learning he had been injured in an attack during a patrol and, even if they had talked many times on the phone, she kept on sending goodies as if her husband's life depended on them. Pearl and Ruby, his twin daughters, had drawn him so many pictures he had to borrow a carton folder at the Accounting Department to keep their art safe. Even if Roberts had repetitively told his family that he had indeed made a complete recovery (the scars he had earned would make a nice addition to his collection), Belinda and the girls still seemed unconvinced about his well-being and doubtless they would watch him, hawk-like, for the whole duration of his next leave.

Roberts inwardly sighed: he would not climb in a plane leaving for the US for a long time, not until McGee would have finished his new version of The Watcher. The Corporal could not blame Stephenson's 'special civilian', though: McGee had done the right thing by destroying his laptop during the Taliban's attack and he had been working on the new version of the computer program as soon as he had been released from the hospital. In fact, the young man's dedication in re-building The Watcher was admirable; even though McGee had been devastated by the death of his lady-love, Captain Wilkins, he was still resolute in devising a program that could save hundreds of American soldiers' lives and nothing, not even a herd of charging, rabid buffalos, would distract him from his goal.

The Corporal raised his eyes over a spoonful of potatoes and looked at McGee seated at a table next to his, munching indifferently at his food. Roberts sighed again, this time out loud: even months after the attack, McGee still looked shaken. He had lost weight, he was pale from long hours spent on his new laptop and he had an angry red scar running from his forehead to his right eyebrow – in fact, McGee looked like he had just been in a car accident and yet, his green eyes were calm and steady, shining in dedication to finish his work at all costs. Had he had a drink in hand, Roberts would have raised it in salute to the civilian's courage. In fact, it was a damn shame McGee was a civilian: resilient men had their place in the Marines!

A movement caught Roberts' attention and a smile spread on his lips as he recognized the feminine silhouette: it was David, the ex-Mossad who had showed up with Gibbs at ISAF (uninvited) to appoint herself as McGee's bodyguard while Roberts was recovering at the hospital. Her presence at the base had raised quite a lot of eyebrows, from the soldiers who had asked about this gorgeous gal to the officers who had wondered what that woman was doing at the base. Stephenson had told officers to not ask questions about David, the official version being she was at ISAF to help McGee since he was behind his accounting work from the wounds he had sustained. Soldiers had been ordered to leave David alone and the very few foolish ones had quickly found themselves at the business end of paperclips!

In the end, curiosity had quieted down since the men preferred to gossip about their favorite subject, namely the hated Sergeant Miller. He had been sent back to the States under heavy guard, regardless of his pitiful attempts to play the sympathy card from his castration, and the men were placing bets about his upcoming doom: a firing squad, Guantanamo or in lock-up for the rest of his goddamned life.

Ziva gave an almost-imperceptible nod towards Roberts and sat casually in front of McGee, holding a filled tray in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. Initially, Roberts had been a bit put off from having being replaced as McGee's bodyguard but Stephenson had reassured him: instead of being sidelined, Roberts was promoted to _'guardian angel of the civilian_ _couple'_ and once again, the General had made a wise decision. McGee and David could still attract the unwanted attention of Miller-wannabes and Stephenson did not want another act of treason in his base; consequently, the special couple had to be watched over discreetly and no-one but Roberts was best qualified for the task. Good thing McGee and David were inseparable, it made his job a lot easier!

In spite of the brouhaha at the mess hall and if he listened carefully, the Corporal could hear the conversation between the undercover fed and his beauteous bodyguard:

"I've found some bottled water, Tim, so you can stay hydrated while you work. You may think going to the bathroom makes you waste time, _ahouve _(beloved), but keeping your kidneys in good working order is important."

"Ziva, I am certain the doctors would have found out if something was wrong with my kidneys. God know, I've spent enough time at the hospital with Captain Blythe…"

"I don't doubt his professional skills, but captivity can have long-lasting effects on human organs, especially after having being brutally beaten and walked miles through the desert. The doctors did a marvelous job in mending you…"

"_Fixing_ me, Ziva," corrected Tim with a half-smile.

"Yes, they did well but you cannot compromise your recovery by working endlessly without eating, drinking or sleeping. It takes more than a few weeks in a hospital to recover from an experience such as the one you've endured: the heat, the torture, the deprivation of food and water… One may resist during weeks of captivity but once the danger is over, the body remembers the trauma for months, even years… Believe me, I know."

Tim's pallor increased at those words. He knew Ziva was referring to her abduction in Somalia and she had first-hand experience with the physical and psychological consequences of being at the mercy of killers while lost in a hostile country – but Ziva was also beautiful, courageous and a warrior, three unforgivable sins to the eyes of her tormentor, Saleem. After the rescue, Ziva had not said a word about what had happened during her captivity but Tim had known there had been the high possibility of rape. Butler had been a real bastard and his terrorist friends had fared no better, but at least Tim had been spared from this ignominy.

Suddenly, but not for the first time, McGee felt shameful for being so weak. He should have asked General Stephenson to order Ziva to go back to the US instead of accepting her offer to stay in Afghanistan. His ordeal was nothing compared to what she had suffered in Somalia and she should not be stuck at ISAF, shadowing him twenty-four/seven whereas she could be at NCIS solving murder cases, doing important work, making DC safer for Marines and the civilian population alike.

Tim could almost picture Tony in his head, proclaiming loud enough for everyone in the bullpen to hear: _"Probie needs Ziva to hold his hand, why am I not surprised? That's just like him, falling apart right after an attack! When in the world is he going to grow a thicker skin? So he was abducted by terrorists who roughed him up, no big deal here! It lasted only for a week! Ziva didn't ask for my shoulder to cry on after __**I**__ rescued her from that s.o.b. Saleem. But she's a tough one, just like me, whereas Probie has proved his unworthiness on the field, once again!"_ And Abby was there too, in her full Goth glory, with her arms folded across her chest and a superior smirk on her face: _"McGee's a baby! I've told him time and time again to stop acting like one, but he wouldn't listen! And now he wants Ziva to be his babysitter? He's probably asking her to check for monsters under the bed, or read him stories, or even bring him a glass of water in the middle of the night. My God, to think Vance had sent such an infantile person in a war zone! He really ought to be fired for his lack of judgment – and he had the nerve to call me ridiculous and unprofessional! Well, at least I am not an overgrown baby who cries for help at the first signs of danger: I took care of my stalker myself. I don't need anyone to help me out of trouble!"_

"Tim, stop it."

"Hunh? What?" asked a startled McGee, being brutally torn out of his self-loathing by the firm but concerned voice of his friend.

"You were telling yourself that you are a weakling simply because you are glad of my presence in your time of need. Right?" asked Ziva, her eyes shining like jet stones.

"Yes," answered Tim with a sigh. It was useless to lie to Ziva and besides, he owed her too much. Rewarding her devotion to his well-being by lying to her face would have been an unforgivable insult.

"Tim, for the hundredth time, you are anything but weak. Wanting the reassurance presence of a friend while recovering from an ordeal is not a sign of frailty, it's being human! Everybody longs for the presence of a friend or a loved one by our side during convalescence and whoever says otherwise is nothing but a dirty liar. General Stephenson called you a hero; Corporal Roberts thinks the world about you; the rest of the men cannot praise you enough for having 'neuteralized' that horrid Sergeant Miller. Even I told you that you are the bravest man I've ever met. Do you think Stephenson, Roberts and I would lie to you?"

"God, no!"

"Then, does our opinion count for nothing?"

"Certainly not! I value your opinion, as well as Stephenson's and Roberts. You are dear to me, Ziva, and I would never think your life experience is of less value than mine, quite the contrary."

Ziva put her fork back in her tray, thinking: _"If only you knew how dear you are to me, _ostar chély (my treasure)_!"_

"Then, why do you keep thinking that you are weak?"

McGee lowered his head and stared silently at his food for a minute; Ziva did not press on, as she knew her friend needed to gather his thoughts before answering. A noisy mess hall was not the best place for therapy but they had no other place where they could talk freely. Tim had renewed with his fake identity as a Finance Corps' accountant but he and Ziva could not openly talk while faking to work on numbers at Logistic Support, whereas he was typing his fingers off on the new version of The Watcher. Nights were no better since Ziva could not sleep in Tim's private quarters, because of the inevitable gossip that would spread through the base like wildfire. Stephenson had urged them to be discreet: Tim's abduction had casted a lot of unwanted light on the _'quiet accountant who had castrated Miller'_ and the General wanted things to come back to normal as quickly as possible.

Tim sighed again, and then said: "I know I'm being silly…"

"You're not," shot Ziva back.

"… I just cannot help but think what Tony and Abby are saying about me right now, at NCIS."

That last piece of confession took Ziva completely by surprise. Corporal Roberts, who had been discreetly listening to their conversation, nearly betrayed himself by dropping some liquid food on his uniform's pants: like Ziva, he did not have a clue what that topic was coming from. Why would Stephenson's special civilian talk about his colleagues from the federal agency, all of a sudden?

"Tony and Abby? What do they have to do with…?"

"It's silly, I know. But for some reason, my brains cannot concentrate on what Stephenson, Roberts and you are telling me about what I have accomplished at ISAF; in fact, I can only imagine what Tony and Abby's current opinions are about me. As you can guess, it isn't flattering."

"What do they say?"

"Like, Tony boasting about how tough you and he are, and that neither one of you need counseling or assistance after a job went bad. That you and he are the perfect match, the unflappable duo that nothing can shake, not even terrorists. How my ordeal is nothing compares to yours and your presence at ISAF is another proof of my helplessness. And Abby proclaiming loud and clear that I'm nothing but a crybaby, good only to type on a keyboard, and it serves me right for thinking that I would be able to endure the difficulties of a mission abroad, in a war zone. Oh God, Ziva! It feels like I'm going crazy! My own brains have become my tormentor, nagging me over and over again until I'll fall apart for the littlest things whereas I should concentrate on finishing the project, out of respect for Stephenson and the brave Marines who died in the attack."

Ziva gritted her teeth in frustration, not towards McGee but to her colleagues at NCIS. Even absent, Tony and Abby still managed to bother her man with their taunts and sarcasms, deliberately eroding the self-confidence Tim had painfully built over the years every time they had a chance. The ex-Mossad had never realized the depths of the pain Tim had shouldered, from the early days of his school years to the recent months of working under Tony's incessant hazing. The young man had thought that putting some distance between him and his daily tormentors would allow him to focus on a project where his professional qualities would bloom – and rightly so, considering the paternal pride Ziva had witnessed from General Stephenson towards Tim. The man could not have been prouder if McGee had invented a dome that could protect the whole United States from enemy missiles!

Alas, Miller's treason and Captain Wilkins' death had destroyed everything McGee had built in Afghanistan, like a lava flow annihilating everything in its path, leaving nothing but burned ashes after it had cooled off. And yet, Ziva knew that even this kind of catastrophe could not stop the rebirth of life: soils were fertilized by lava and vegetation would grow back, thicker than before. She had the same experience after she had captured in Somalia; Ziva's self-confidence as a Mossad officer and a federal agent has been shot to pieces, thanks to Saleem's torture. Only the love of her friends had helped her to get back on her feet, both physically and psychologically and it was high time she returned the favor.

"Tim, before I answer you, I'd like to ask you: do you know the novel "Rebecca", by Daphne du Maurier?"

The literature question took Tim off-balance.

"Er… I think I've read it during adolescence, but I am not certain. Isn't it about a young woman who marries a rich widower, and there's a creepy housekeeper?"

"Yes, that's right. I had to read this novel for my English classes and I loved every line of it. The story is of a twenty-something, poor timid English girl training to be the female companion of an American snobbish lady, and then she meets Maxim de Winter, a wealthy gentleman recently widowed of his wife Rebecca. After a short romance, the heroine marries Maxim and goes to Manderley, the family's mansion. Then, she is confronted to the horrible housekeeper, Mrs. Danvers, who keeps on telling her that she will never be as beautiful and accomplished as Rebecca. Everybody talk about how Rebecca was charming, intelligent and educated, a jewel of a woman who left an impression of perfection everywhere she went – and the shy heroine grows doubts about the reasons why Maxim had married her."

"_I do sympathize,"_ thought Tim, remembering his own doubts after Gibbs had recruited him for his team.

"But the heroine is too self-conscious to listen carefully to what the persons close to Maxim say: his sister Beatrice, her husband Giles, Frank the manager of the estate, even a retarded man named Ben… They seem to be hiding a secret. And finally, after much drama, she learns that Rebecca wasn't the saintly person she appeared to be. In fact, she was cruel, vicious and manipulative. Also, she was an adult error…"

"_Adulterer_, Ziva."

"Yes, an unfaithful woman who faked to be the perfect wife whereas she held everybody in contempt, including her cousin-lover Jack. The only one in the confidence was Mrs. Danvers, who venerated Rebecca. Maxim got disgusted by his wife's behavior and then he finally snapped, shot her dead and made it look like a boat accident. There is an inquest and Jack tries to blackmail Maxim, but it goes nowhere. The heroine and Maxim's love grows stronger from this ordeal but in the end, Manderley is destroyed by fire – probably caused by Mrs. Danvers."

"That's a great story, Ziva; but please, what is your point?"

"My point is that I felt the crux of the drama didn't reside in Rebecca's hypocrisy or Mrs. Danvers' obsession, but in the heroine's tendency to speculate on what people can say about her. She keeps imagining Max's acquaintances gossiping about her awkwardness, modest background and lack of experience before comparing her negatively to the flamboyant Rebecca. The heroine makes herself sick with the imaginary dialogues she invents and it increases her lack of self-worth even more – whereas she should pay more attention to Beatrice, Giles and Frank: they all allude she is a good person to Maxim and she shouldn't be worried about Rebecca's ghost. Ben compares Rebecca to a snake and this simple statement would have raised the heroine's attention, don't you think?"

"Quite!"

"All in one: Tim, there is nothing wrong with your brains; they are in perfect 'order of function', as proved by the long hours you've spent writing pages of math since you got discharged from the hospital. And I am ready to bet my last knife that you will be able to present the new version of whatever you're inventing to General Stephenson in no time, and it will be even better than the previous one that has been destroyed in the attack. The only thing tormenting you is your imagination; like the rest of your body, it has also been traumatized by the kidnapping and your wounds and somehow, it got stuck on the bad souvenirs you have of Tony and Abby. Your imagination is currently like a broken record: it stays on the same tracks and makes awful sounds that bother you. My advice?"

"Please," said Tim, barely resisting to grasp Ziva's hand in his own.

"Train your imagination to not invent dialogues between persons that are not even here. The heroine of the _Rebecca_ novel let her fears command her imagination and it could have cost her dearly. I felt the same way as you do after my rescue; I could still hear Saleem's taunts about my capture proving I was nothing but an arrogant bitch even if Gibbs, you and the others told me daily that I was a valued member of the team. The only difference between you and me, _lève chèl ariyé_ (lion-heart), is that I don't have enough imagination to invent dialogues! Just concentrate on what Stephenson has said about your heroism and it will free your mind from bad souvenirs of NCIS. Imagination is a tool to enrich life and not to poison it with unfounded fears. Tony and Abby are not in Afghanistan and they don't have a clue about the situation here, so it is useless to think about what they would say or not. In fact, they don't matter – only **you** matters and I won't let anything bother you!"

That actually made Tim smile and he was the first surprised by this reaction; after Aimee's death, he had been certain he would never be able to smile again.

"Have I told you recently that you're an exceptional friend, Ziva David?"

"Oh yes, you've told me that many times. But Tim, please consider my words: you're far too intelligent to let yourself being crippled by the souvenir of Tony and Abby's acid tongues. Your imagination is 'off-track' for the moment, as it is normal after a traumatic event, but I know you will face your fears to dominate them and that's the very definition of courage."

"_Not to forget I'll be there to help you, every 'stomp' of the way,"_ added Ziva silently.

Tim looked at his tray maculated with cold food, as the memory of Stephenson visiting him at the hospital came back to his mind, and how the General had told him: "_The 'If' game is no good to anyone, McGee; it will twist your mind and destroy you completely… Believe me, I know!"_ At the time, McGee had thought Stephenson did not want him to feel responsible for the attack, the only guilty party being Butler and Miller as they had deliberately targeted a man to satisfy their twisted sense of greed and revenge. But Tim was slowly realizing those words had a double meaning: the General was telling him to not let his mind be clouded by doubts and worries, the tormenting 'Ifs' that could destroy dreams, projects and accomplishments. To quote Christian Nestell Bovee, _"Doubt whom you will, but never yourself" _andTim trusted Ziva, Stephenson and Roberts. He really ought to rely on their confidence in him instead of thinking about what Tony or Abby were saying at thousands of miles from ISAF.

"You're right, Ziva and I thank you for your support. I'll remember your advice every time my mind will start inventing dialogues. Come to think about it, it's pretty absurd to speculate over gossip!"

"And you'll see, your imagination will stop going 'ashtray' once you've ceased to worry about other people's opinion!" concluded the ex-Mossad.

Tim refrained to correct the mistake and smiled at his friend, before saying he had eaten enough and was ready to go back to work. Ziva promptly went on her feet and both of them dropped their empty trays and the cutlery at the designated spots before leaving the mess hall, heading towards the Logistics Support Department to keep with the charade of Tim being a simple accountant.

Roberts had had a hard time repressing a few snorts while listening to McGee and David's conversation: the mistakes made by the woman in colloquial language were just too damn funny! For a moment, he considered retelling them to General Stephenson, but in the end he decided against it: David could take it the wrong way and she had previously demonstrated her proficiency in turning paper clips into lethal weapons. Crossing David was definitively hazardous to your health!

* * *

><p><em>Meanwhile, at Gibbs' house…<em>

Gibbs had stopped sanding the hull of his newest boat hours ago and was quietly sipping Bourbon from a glass while looking at Tim's framed photo placed on his worktable.

It has been four months since he and Ziva had flown to Afghanistan on an unauthorized rescue mission, and the results were nothing to boast about: Gibbs had been kicked out of ISAF like unwanted garbage; Vance had read him the riot act for having left DC without authorization; he had kept his job by the skin of his teeth and, on top of everything, he had to endure Abby's incessant whines about the complaint Peterson had filed against her.

True to his word, Gibbs had tried to talk to Peterson in the hopes the man would withdraw his complaint, but to no avail. Peterson had obviously been warned and he must have donned some kind of invisible armor for protection against the former Gunnery Sergeant's usual tactics (glares, 'in-your-face' posture and growls) to obtain what he wanted. In the end, Gibbs' arguments had failed one after another and he had left the lab with the feeling of impending doom. Abby would not be pleased learning about her silver haired fox's failure, thus worsening her situation.

As for what was left of his team… Tony had been white with anger since the review board had demoted him to the status of a Senior Agent stuck behind a desk all day long. For Tony, it was the ultimate insult and Gibbs had to use all of his persuasion power to stop DiNozzo from doing stupid things, such as resigning on a sudden impulse or vandalizing the cars of the review board's members. Even Ducky had stepped up, offering sound advice but the Agent had been too furious to listen to the voice of reason. In the end, Gibbs had to threaten Tony to show him the door if he did not calm down and the young man had complied – albeit reluctantly. In fact, Gibbs had caught Tony giving him the Evil Eye a few times and it had done nothing to improve their working relationship.

Ziva was still in Afghanistan, helping Tim and living on borrowed time, since Volcano Vance was still quietly fuming in the background from her disobedience. Ducky and Jimmy were prudently staying downstairs at the morgue, keeping their distances from Team Gibbs as much as they could. As for Abby, her suspension and successive scandals have not made her very popular amongst the other scientists. They avoided her like the plague and the rumor mill was buzzing about a probable consumption of illegal substances to explain her outrageous behavior.

But all this was nothing compared to McGee's anger; his youngest had rejected his apologies for his misplaced initiative about Butler and had told him to get out of his life. That was quite heartbreaking and Gibbs had been at a loss to find a way to make amends. Every evening, after a boring day of cold cases in the sold company of a sulking Senior Agent, Gibbs would go to his basement to do some woodworking but, after a while, he would inevitably leave his tools to drink Bourbon while looking at Tim's photograph, as if he hoped against all odds to find a solution in the framed, printed picture.

Would Tim ever forgive him for having interfered with his mission? Gibbs would have understood if the kid refused to work for him anymore at NCIS but he was dedicated in not being permanently excluded from Tim's life. He was missing his son terribly and dreaded to think he had lost him forever. Maybe Ducky could intervene in Gibbs' favor? McGee was always willing to listen to the elderly M.E. but his experiences in Afghanistan had certainly changed him. Maybe…

"**GIBBS!" **roared a furious female voice.

Startled, the ex-Marine raised his eyes towards the stairs and cursed his inattentiveness. Lost in his thought about McGee, he had failed to hear Abby entering the basement!

"What? What is it?" asked Gibbs, realizing too late the framed portrait was still sitting on the worktable. He would usually hide the photograph whenever Tony or Abby would come to his house to avoid spiteful comments but the jealous look on the Goth woman's face told him she had perfectly seen who the man on the picture was.

**"_GIBBS! Why do you have a picture of McGee on your worktable?"_**

TBC…


	74. A termination

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

_- Id est_ is Latin for 'That is', usually abbreviated _i.e_.

-'_The English patient' _is a 1996 romantic drama movie, starring Ralph Fiennes, Kristin Scott Thomas and Juliette Binoche.

- To Guest: please don't worry; The Watcher 2.0 is almost finished. Tim just wants it the new version to be perfect out of respect for the fallen Marines.

- To Sprouthater: I hope you will like this new chapter! ;o)

- To RedDragen: thank you for your kind words. It is nice to be back, believe me!

- To Corala: I think you will find some answers in this new chapter.

- To None: Ziva will certainly tell Tim about her feelings, but she rightly thinks he is still mourning Aimee and she wants to give him time to heal.

- To Guest: thank you for your good wishes! The dissertation's results won't arrive before long weeks.

- To mark gibbs: like Roald Dahl, I believe in baddies getting their just desserts! :o)

- To Guest: Tim did not have an USB copy of The Watcher since it was a highly-confidential project… In fact, the only backup copy he has is in his brains!

- To Francis: thank you! I hope you will keep on enjoying the story.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 73: A termination <strong>

_Gibbs' basement…_

Gibbs tightened his grip on the glass of Bourbon to refrain himself from exploding in anger. In the past, he had always been glad to see Abby at his house; she always brought food and they would share it over glasses of Kentuckian alcohol, while she would pour her heart out about the problems she encountered at work, or her latest bowling competition with the nuns of the St. John Chrysostom convent, or even the most gruesome cases his team had to investigate. Abby would generally end up in tears at the recollection of the victims' sorry state and Gibbs would console her by reminding the murderers were in jail, all thanks to her good work at the lab. Abby then would ask him if she were indeed the best Forensics scientist of NCIS and Gibbs would answer by the affirmative, with a sworn statement that she were the smartest person he had encountered in his life.

Abby would then go home in her strange-looking car with a happy smile on her face, reassured in both her professional skills and her special place she had in the team. She treasured her status of 'favorite' and she was ready to keep it at all costs, with a determination matching Tony's for his title of 'adopted son'.

But from some time now, in fact since he had returned from his botched rescue mission in Afghanistan, Gibbs had felt nothing but annoyance towards the Goth woman. He had kept a stone-like attitude at work in an effort to stop the NCIS' rumor mill from buzzing wildly about his team members, since they needed new gossips like they needed to be whacked over the head with a hammer. But in the comforts of home, lost in his misery about the goof he had made with Butler and the recollection of Tim's rage, the ex-Marine was not in the mood of hearing the usual ranting and ravings of a vexed Abby. And her furious glares towards McGee's picture were not improving the situation, either.

"What do you want, Abs?" asked Gibbs without relinquishing his hold on the rosewood frame.

"**This is not what I've asked, Gibbs! How is it that you have a picture of McGee on your worktable?"**

"Last time I've checked, what I have or don't have in my house is none of your business, Abby."

"**But… But… It's McGee!"** sputtered the woman.

"And your point is…?"

"**How come you don't have a picture of me, huh? How come? You've always said I was your favorite! Why is it you have a photo of McGee instead of me?"**

Gibbs was about to say he did have a picture of her. It was the one taken during the Fourth of July barbecue, in which all the team members gathered around grilled ribs and sausages, and it was currently gathering dust just behind the toolbox. He could have grabbed it to show the Goth woman the mistake she had made but decided against it, as he had never felt the need to justify any of his actions in his life, not even to Abby.

"Like I've said, what I do in my house is of no business but mine, Abs!"

"**What's wrong with you? Have you completely forgotten about me?**" bellowed Abby while stomping her platform boot on the basement's floor.** "You've left me out to dry with that creepy Peterson and you spend all your free time daydreaming about McGee, instead of coming to my aid!"**

"Abby, this is uncalled for! You cannot accuse me of ignoring about you. I've tried to make Peterson change his mind about the complaint but he wouldn't budge. What did you expected me to do, kill him?"

"**Yes! That what the former Gibbs – the **_**better**_** Gibbs! – would have done, to save me! After all I've suffered in my life I expected more consideration from you!"**

The ridiculous statement left Gibbs speechless but, in a way, he was not surprised. Abby never missed an occasion to mention her tragic childhood as an orphan – omitting she had loving, adoptive parents –, the impervious attitude of her peers at school towards Goth music – overlooking the fact she had relished on the attention –, and her financial struggles at university – conveniently forgetting her squandering of scholarships – to explain why she needed Gibbs' constant moral support. She had been soooooooo unfortunate in her life that she needed to be protected from 'enemies' (_id est_ jealous persons who envied her scientific mind) and 'ignoramuses' (in other words, whoever unaware of the Goth culture) by her silver-haired fox at all times.

And Gibbs had been the perfect man for the job; anyone who had dared to stand against Abby had never fully recovered from his or her encounter with the ex-Marine, conferring the Lab Rat an aura of invulnerability allowing her to do as she pleased despite the fact her actions could put other people in trouble, especially McGee. However, Peterson did not deserve to be executed because he had refused to withdraw his complaint against Abby. Tim's departure had widened Gibbs' gaze at long last and he had to admit – even if it hurt to do it – that Peterson's grievance was based on solid ground. The man had definitively not appreciated the insults Abby had hurled at his head on the day she came back to work, simply because he had dared to tidy up the lab during her absence.

"Abby, this is getting ridiculous. You cannot expect me to kill the employee of a federal agency just to save you from trouble! Who do you think I am, a contract killer?"

"But what will I become, if you don't help me? Don't you give a damn about my career?" shouted Abby. "Don't you care about me anymore? Am I to be tossed out on the streets, like the lowest of the low? Don't you respect my work? I have done wonders for NCIS! For your information, you wouldn't have solved _one_ single case without my input!"

"We're a team, Abs," answered Gibbs as calmly as he could. "The contribution of each one of us is needed as we all aim for the same goal."

"**But MY contribution is more important than the others! I'm the **_**brains**_** of the team!"**

"Good grief, Abby, there's no need to act like a Drama Queen! Everybody's important in my team: you, Tony, Ziva and Tim, you are all equal to my eyes. Why can't you see it?"

Abby started to cry, startling the ex-Marine as her volatile temper never missed to surprise him but for once, he did not feel like employing the usual way to calm the Lab Rat – namely, hugging her and telling she was the best. Instead, he remained seated with Tim's photo in his hands, remembering his youngest son's harsh words about favorites and how they could get away with anything whereas others would be belittled at the slightest misstep.

He remembered the promise he had made to Tim in the hospital room, about proving to the young man that he was of equal importance as Tony, Ziva and Abby. Tim had refused to believe him and it had been quite a blow to Gibbs' pride, since he considered himself being the most trustworthy boss in the world but he had pushed aside feelings of bitterness.

Only Tim mattered and Gibbs was resolute in keeping his promise, even if it would take years to fulfill it. In fact, this promise had become Gibbs' lifelong mission and nothing would prevent him from reaching his goal, not even a few tears shed by Abby. As upset as she was about the possibilities of losing her job, it did not give her the right to make murder plans against a federal employee or to pretend being the more important member of a team.

"_Yeah, and you sure told her about this itty-bitty fact over the years, haven't you, Gibbs?" _asked the mocking voice of Good Sense inside the ex-Marine's brains. _"You certainly have made sure Abby would never think she is more important than your other 'kids', not in a million years… Oops, nope, you didn't! In fact, you've let Abby believe she was untouchable, up on a pedestal. And now, she reveals her true colors: a scared woman who falls apart as soon as someone makes a stand against her, and who is pathologically possessive."_

Gibbs let out a sigh, making Abby look at him through tears-filled eyelashes. Something was wrong: she had been crying for more than a minute and her silver-haired fox had not hugged her yet. The Teeam Leader would normally take her into his arms as soon as a second tear would drop, but lately he had seemed reluctant in offering his usual reassurances. In fact, he seemed to be more distant since his return from Afghanistan, after that no-good Ziva had stayed behind with traitor McGee.

"That's quite enough from you, Abby."

"W-What?" stuttered the Lab Rat, barely believing her own ears.

"I've said, enough! It's completely useless to turn on the waterworks andyou are overreacting about Peterson's complaint. Besides, the whole matter would have been solved weeks ago if you had gathered the courage to fess up and admit to Vance that you have been out of line with Peterson."

"Rule no. 6! _"Apologizing is a sign of weakness!"_" shot Abby.

"Rule no. 8: _"Never take anything for granted"_", shot Gibbs back. "You wrongly thought Peterson would back down at the mere sight of me, just like I was wrong to think Tim would accept to work for thoughtless bullies for the whole duration of his career."

"Bullies? Who are you talking about?"

"US, Abby! For God's sake, I'm talking about US, the entire team, without exception! We all played a part in Tim's decision to leave. Why can't you admit it?"

"But I don't give a damn about McGee! He can stay in Afghanistan, or go to China, or be transferred to the South Pole for all I care – and you should wash your hands off him as well. He has never been good enough for the team anyway, whereas I've proven time and time again to be irreplaceable."

Abby dabbed at her eyes with a black silken handkerchief, convinced she had made a valid point. With her schooling and Gibbs in her corner, Abby had not encountered any problem in imposing her superior knowledge to the other members of the team. Tony, the late Kate and Ziva were absolute dunces when it came to science so Abby had remained totally unchallenged in her field. She had quickly proven her worth and whenever she brought much-needed forensics' results for murder cases, she would get kissed on the cheek by Gibbs with the cherished words _"Good work, Abs"_, crowning her accomplishments. For a time, she had been the indisputable Queen of Science… until Tim McGee had showed up, with that annoying brilliance of his.

Abby could not forgive McGee for having gone to MIT and John Hopkins and she had reminded him many times that she could have gotten a second degree as well, if she had had the money but she was not the privileged offspring of a Navy Admiral! Tim had tried to explain that his education had been partly financed by a trust fund from his late grandfather; the rest had been paid for with scholarships and math tutorials to kids, since Admiral McGee had been less than supportive about his son's education. But Abby's resentment had been too deep and she had brushed off Tim's explanations, persuaded he wanted to take her place as the team's scientist while Tony would laugh out loud at McGee's statement about working night and day had prevented him to flirt with university girls.

Afterwards, Abby had tried to devalue her alleged rival's scientific knowledge by asking Gibbs to order Tim to help her at the lab – the implicit message being, _'McGee's only good as an assistant'_. She had solicited his help time and time again, regardless of her demands impeding on Tim's work but her little game had backfired badly since rumors had reached Jenny Sheppard's ears about Abby being too busy to keep up with Team Gibbs' schedule. As a result, she had been granted an official assistant, Charles Sterling, who had tried to kill her.

While Abby was trying to recompose herself, Gibbs was having a hard time to not explode out of sheer indignation. Tim McGee, never good enough? _**His**_ Tim, his son who had worked his ass off to become one of the finest agents NCIS ever had within its ranks? Wash his hands off Tim McGee, the probable future Director of a federal agency? That was a blatant insult! The silver-haired man was seething with anger and, if it had been anyone but Abby, he would have walloped the idiot daring to make such an outrageous statement.

"I cannot believe you've just said that, Abs," said Gibbs between clenched teeth.

"And I cannot believe you'd let McGee's absence distract you from real problems, Gibbs – namely, **my** problem with Peterson. It's hard for me to think you've put me in the backburner, considering all what we had to go through since McGee's desertion…"

"He's NOT a deserter, Abby! NCIS is a government's agency and people can make career choices as they please. I forbid you to call him this!"

"But you gotta admit everything has gone downhill since he has turned his back on us," insisted Abby. "Tony's been demoted, Ziva is abroad and me being unjustly suspended, and then getting a Citation Release for having defended Jethro."

"That dog didn't need defending in the first place; it was a matter of you sticking your nose where it didn't belong and then you stupidly assaulted a police officer, simply because he was doing his job. Now you've got a record and I had to pay your fine at the courthouse since you've never been penny-wise."

"All this would NEVER have happened if McGee had stayed with us! And now, Ziva's got that wild idea in her head about her having to play nurse in the middle of the desert, just like that French actress in 'The English patient' movie. But if she thinks her angel of mercy act will give her a chance with McGee, then she has another thing coming. I won't let her. I won't let her!" sputtered Abby in rage.

This last statement made Gibbs frown; he could recognize jealousy when he saw it and Abby's rigid posture, clenched fists and shining eyes made a perfect illustration for that 'Othello' line about jealousy. He was quite aware the Lab Rat had ended her romance with Tim years ago: the official reason was out of respect of rule no. 12, _"Never date a co-worker"_ but the unofficial reason was Abby being incapable of commitment. The very idea of a serious relationship made her run for cover, since she preferred a lifetime of parties and Goth music concerts to the quiet stability of a home.

Her carefree nature had broken McGee's heart – twice – but in parallel, Abby went green of envy whenever a woman expressed an interest towards the computer tech. Not that Tim had much luck in the sentimental field, though: almost every woman he had met had turned out to be a psycho, a fraud or a killer. It had taken him a mission in Afghanistan to finally meet a good woman… but she had been killed because of Gibbs and Tim would mourn her for the rest of his days.

The silver-haired man grunted softly as guilt stabbed him in the heart like a thin, icy blade. _To think I've hurt my baby so much…_

He was about to tell the Lab Rat to not say stupid things, but then… he thought twice about it. For all her recklessness, Abby was still one of the sharpest people he had ever met and her intelligence, combined with jealousy, was quite effective in nosing out a teammate involved in a relationship.

Tim and Ziva? Was the idea plausible? Judging from Abby's venomous glares, it was possible. After all, the former Mossad officer had not hesitated for a second to brave Vance's orders and jump in a plane as soon as she had learned about the kidnapping. And Tim had made it clear he did not considerate Gibbs as his boss any longer and thus, he did not have to obey his rules. But the silver-haired man knew his youngest son's big heart; it had been torn to shreds by his lady-love's death and it was going to take some time before he would consider starting a new relationship.

Then again, Ziva had learned to be patient during her Mossad training…

But if there were a chance Tim and Ziva would fall in love, then it was up to Gibbs to not let anyone to stand on their way, not even his surrogate daughter.

"What do you mean, you won't let her?" asked the ex-Marine in a low, dangerous voice that Abby failed to notice.

"Just like I've said, I won't let her. Ziva has no business with McGee. She'd better back off, or else…"

"Or else, what?"

"I'll make her life so unbearable that she'll rue the day she double-crossed me!"

That was the last straw. A quote from Confucius, saying _"To go too far is as bad as to fall short"_ came to Gibbs' mind as he carefully put the framed photograph back on the worktable. Abby had overstepped her bounds and she definitively needed to hear what her silver-haired fox had to say about threats towards his adopted niece and insults about his youngest son.

"No you won't, Abby."

"But, Gibbs…"

"You won't! You are going to leave Ziva alone if you know what's good for you. In the eventuality she and Tim become an item, you won't make one move against them and keep poisonous comments to yourself – otherwise, and don't think for a second these are idle words, I will go to Vance and personally ask him to kick you out of NCIS."

"WHAT? You can't be serious!"

"Oh, I am dead serious, Abby. I've already told you about me being fed up with your diva-like attitude and the habit you've developed about lashing out at random anytime something vexes you. For the past months, you've done nothing but causing dissensions in my team – the scene with McGee at the bullpen, your arrest at Langdon Park, pushing Ducky away, the spiteful comments at the conference room and the trash you've served Peterson, all this because you were furious at the thought Tim wouldn't be around for months to be your doormat."

"You… You… You're taking Ziva's side?"

"To Hell with sides! What we need is a bit of solidarity between us to get our team back! Do the words _Esprit de Corps_ have any meaning for you? You know, that sense of shared purpose and fellowship felt by people belonging to a particular group? Well, it has been missing for years within Team Gibbs and I've been a complete moron not to notice it."

"But Ziva is aiming for McGee, and she has no right to do this!"

"And why not?"

"Because he's mine; Timmy's mine, Gibbs!" pleaded the Goth woman with a new batch of tears running on her cheeks. "He has been for years and nobody can come up to snatch him away from me!"

"Oh, yeah? You were not really concerned after the terrorists had snatched Tim."

"That's not true!"

"Yes, it is. "_McGee is inept; he cannot lie nor fight; he's a complete flop and now we have to find him, what a chore!" _Isn't that what you've said after we've learned about his abduction? That's hardly the words of a concerned party, if you ask me. Since you don't care about Tim, then you're the one who has no business in meddling into his personal life. You have ceased to be a couple years ago so Tim isn't yours anymore and I'm tired of watching you twist his heart around, treating him like a lackey while dangling promises of a renewed relationship in front of his eyes."

"**You have no right to judge me!" **roared the Goth woman, her white skin turning red with anger under the make-up. **"I've never done anything wrong to Timmy!"**

"Delude yourself as much as you want but stop that screaming-mad banshee act, this is not worthy of you. You're supposed to be a smart person so you shouldn't have any trouble understanding when I tell you this: I won't let you or anyone else meddle in McGee and David's lives in case they find happiness with each other. Their relationship will be off-limits to you, just like it will be for Tony and his lousy jokes and anybody else for that matter."

"So that's it, then? That's really it? I'm less important than McGee for you?"

"You damn well know that's not the point!" exclaimed the Team Leader, reaching the limits of his short temper. "Gosh, I curse the day I've let you all believe you had to fight against each other to win a _'Gibbs' favorite'_ trophy that doesn't even exist."

"First you've failed to solve my problem with Peterson, and now you refuse to help me with Ziva trying to steal McGee from me! But what in the world is wrong with you, Gibbs? Are you still Gibbs or maybe you're a clone! Yes, that's the only logical explanation. You're a pale copy of Gibbs failing miserably in trying to act like him!"

"Abby, cut that nonsense! I'm not in the mood for science-fiction and you'd better heed my words: clean up your act at work and don't even try to pry information about McGee. Now go home, and I expect you to be at the lab at 7:00 sharp tomorrow morning."

"How can I go to work tomorrow? You've terminated me!" said the Lab Rat while noisily blowing her nose with her handkerchief.

"That's not true; you still have a place in my heart, regardless of how outrageous your behavior had been recently, do you hear?"

"Yes…" whispered Abby, not sounding too convinced.

"Good. Now, I want you to engrave two stated facts inside your memory: A) Tim is not yours and B) you leave him and Ziva alone. Straying off that path will have severe consequences for you; consider this as my first and last warning! Go home, have some rest, and in the meantime consider again a certain advice about apologizing to Peterson. Rule no. 51: _"Sometimes, you're wrong."_ I've discovered this rule late in life and I don't want you to do the same mistake.""

Gibbs turned about to look at Tim's photo and did not bother watching Abby storming off the basement in a state of complete and utter confusion. Doubtless she was at a loss about her silver-haired man's change of heart but deep down, he could not care about her opinion for the moment. Confucius once said, _"When it is obvious that the goals cannot be reached, don't adjust the goals, adjust the action steps"_. Gibbs' goal was clearly defined: he wanted Tim to be happy with Ziva but the action steps had been adjusted. Instead of watching it from afar or making snide comments about Rule no. 12, he had to make sure the persons likely to bother the eventual young couple had to step down. It was clear Abby would not have accepted to be sidelined and it had taken all the authority of her boss and surrogate father to rein her temper in – just like he was looking forward to have the same kind of conversation with Tony DiNozzo. Abby had to get out of Tim's and Ziva's way and she would probably hate her silver-haired fox's guts for the rest of her life.

It would be a very difficult situation for Gibbs, but watching his youngest son smile again would be worth it.

TBC…


	75. An innovation

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- Albert Einstein (1879 – 1955) was a German-born theoretical physicist (from Wikipedia).

- To Corala: what will Abby do next? Nothing wise, I can assure you! ;o)

- To gyrlfrend: thank you for your enthusiasm!

- To Guest: I hope you will continue to like the story.

- To earthdragon: Gibbs has certainly learned wisdom too late, and he really hopes he can reason Tony and Abby before their careers are definitively terminated at NCIS. Being an ex-federal employee doesn't look too good on a résumé!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 74 : An innovation<strong>

_ISAF, one week later..._

"The 2.0 version of the program is operational, Sir," said Tim McGee in Stephenson's office, as he presented his most recent work on the new, Army-issued laptop computer set on the General's desk. "It has been improved in many fields: a hermetic casing, so the program will be less susceptible to shocks, vibrations from the Humvees' motors, and to high temperatures. An auto-destruction option has been added; there is also a solar-powered emergency battery, a polarized screen so the data can be read even under a violent sunlight. The detectors include infrared sensors, optics with improved video and cameras, radio frequency with ultra-sensitive radar, microwave and tomographic motion devices, sound with microphones plus acoustic sensors, vibration and magnetism..."

General Stephenson's eyes were widening by the second at the amount of improvements done on a short length of time. It has been four months since McGee's kidnapping and yet, the barely-recovering agent had managed to build an incredible new version of The Watcher. It was a technological beauty, the ultimate brainchild that would give the US armed forces an incredible leverage over enemies – with such a device, not a cache of weapons, a bomb, or even a clandestine lab would remain undetected!

Once the program had proven its worth in the field (and Stephenson was certain it would the case), it could be employed on aircrafts, submarines, or even surveillance satellites. And the possibilities for the civilian population! Providing a better protection for airports, bus and train stations... An invaluable help to the police for the capture of criminals... The Watcher could detect weaponry but also humans, so it could even be used to find victims of catastrophes, like floods or hurricanes! It looked as if McGee's clever clogs had turned at maximum speed under his skull to make up for the losses he had endured during the attack – Captain Wilkins, the fallen Marines and the first version of The Watcher.

"The latest improvement has been done in order to avoid over-current and loss of data during lightning, Sir," said Tim while trying to keep a steady voice. Thunderstorms were still a painful subject as they reminded him of The Watcher's failure just before the attack. "A weather-forecast application has been coupled to a temperature sensor which will trigger an alarm in case of thunderstorms, and the circuit breakers cut the program from electric power provided either by a car battery or a grounded socket. The solar-powered emergency battery takes over within seconds and the data is retrieved on an automatic back-up copy. I have thought about adding a system acting as a lightning rod in the Humvees, but it has proven to be unnecessary: when the vehicle is hit by a CG (Cloud-to-Ground) lightning strike, people and electronics are protected because the car's metal body forms a Faraday cage, allowing the current of the lightening strike to flow around the outside of the vehicle rather than through it. For other means of transport, the program could benefit from lightning protection installed on airplanes and watercrafts..."

Stephenson glanced at the undercover genius who was still explaining the incredible new program; any other General would have whooped out of joy at the thought of being associated with such a knock-your-socks-off computer program and he was genuinely happy about the prospects, but the paternal lion in him could not help but being worried about McGee. The young man may have been declared 'sound of body' by the doctors and he certainly have benefited from the constant presence of uninvited but efficient Agent David – who was waiting patiently behind the office's door for the meeting to end, in company of Corporal Roberts. However, Stephenson had enough war experience to know the healing of the mind could take months, even years to occur: McGee had not allowed his brains to take a break, to process the trauma he had endured and the General was concerned about the kid being victim of a nervous breakdown.

There were many ways to cope with grief and Tim had chosen to throw himself into work, instead of wasting away with pills and smuggled booze. His courage was to be commended, in more ways than one, but Stephenson did not want Tim to run himself to the ground. He had ordered David to make sure McGee would eat regular meals and sleep a minimum of eight hours per night, a task the ex-Mossad had zealously executed and yet, it was not enough to mend a shattered psyche. It did not take a mind-reader to see Tim was still haunted by Butler and Miller – and Stephenson was aware of the young man shouldering responsibilities that were not his, a character trait he had acquired after having to cope with Admiral McGee during his childhood. Stephenson had had a few drinks with the Admiral during a party at the White House and the inebriated McGee Senior had ranted and raved about '_his never-good enough, dull as dishwater, hare-brained, incapable son'_ and this slurred speech had horrified the General.

How could any man speak like that about his issue? Was it blindness, stupidity or plain jealousy? In Stephenson's opinion, the third option was the correct one!

"This concludes my presentation, Sir. I'll be happy to answer any questions you may have about the new version," said Tim, standing in front of the desk. He had been nervous as Hell about presenting the fruits of his labor, worried about not having worked hard enough as usual but a few words from Ziva had soothed his fears, and Tim had thanked her with a quick peck on the forehead before heading for Stephenson's office. The young man had been unaware of Ziva's hungry stare following his retreating back, though.

The General tore his eyes away from the laptop screen filled with fascinating data, and said: "This is magnificent work, McGee."

"Thank you, Sir," said Tim, trying desperately to not look embarrassed by the compliment.

"But I do have a question: during your presentation, you never called the program by its name, The Watcher. Why?"

This time, McGee could not stop the blush creeping up on his face. Stephenson frowned slightly, worried that such an innocent question could upset the young man so much.

"It's because… I've changed its name, Sir. A-After what had happened, I simply couldn't call it The W-Watcher anymore; it reminded me too m-much of the attack… The Watcher died that day, Sir, with Sergeant R-Raff, Private Winters and Aim… I mean, Captain Wilkins."

Stephenson barely repressed a sigh at the mention of the blond-haired doctor. _Ah, son…_

"I see. Well, that's understandable, McGee. You wanted to give your masterpiece a fresh start and I daresay you have made it rise from the ashes like a true phoenix. So, what do you call the program?"

Tim smiled a little at the mention of the mythological reference but all of a sudden, the image of the firebird came to his mind, screeching in triumph after his rebirth, its wings deployed in a beautiful display of colors to salute its new life. He had forgotten about this creature for weeks, too shattered from having lost Aimee but the phoenix was coming back in all its glory, bringing back hope and strength into his heart. Tim managed to rein in his emotions and typed on a few keys, opening a new window. The General blanched at the sight of the new data on the screen but Tim ignored this reaction to say:

"Since this program is made to detect weaponry, I've named it Contrivance to Hit, Reveal, Identify and Save… CHRIS for short, Sir."

A stunned silence followed those words, as Stephenson could barely believe his own ears. CHRIS? The mind-blowing computer program that would save thousands of lives, for both the military and the civilian population… _McGee had named it after his beloved child?_

"CHRIS?" repeated the pale-faced General in a quiet voice, a shadow of the confident tone he normally used.

"Yes, Sir. I hope I haven't overstepped my boundaries but…. You have been the mastermind behind this project and I wanted to express my gratitude for allowing me to work on a device that could be paramount in the protection of our troops. It hasn't escaped my attention that it could also be used for homeland security, and I dearly wish the program will prove to be helpful in protecting innocents, all the innocents. You have launched this idea of a project, Sir; you have given me _carte blanche_ and you trusted me in completing successfully the program. It is only justice that you should be associated with it and I… I wanted to give it your son's name so a piece of him will live forever."

Stephenson remained silent for a long time and Tim stood as still as a statue, worried out of his mind. Had he been too far? Maybe he _had_ overstepped his boundaries without meaning it, inadvertently hurting the General in the process? When he had talked to Ziva about giving the name of Stephenson's son to the new Special Project, she had praised him for his generous idea. She had heard through the 'clothesline' about the plane crash that had claimed the life of Christopher Stephenson, and she had witnessed the aura of protectiveness the General showed towards his men, but especially to McGee. Ziva had assured him that the General would appreciate the gesture but the ongoing silence was cracking Tim's hopes apart, by the second.

The young man lowered his eyes to the ground, waiting for an eruption of anger, of outrage, even a punch on the face for having named a computer program after Christopher Stephenson without prior authorization. Doubtless the General was inconsolable from his loss and it would be too painful for him to supervise all day long a project bearing the same name as his only child's. Ziva had been wrong; he had been wrong; Stephenson was not going to appreciate Tim's initiative. In fact, he was going to tell him in a few seconds that he had been too far; that he should have minded his own business; that designing the program did not give him the right to use his late son's name; that he was only a civilian in a military base, a lowly federal agent bearing the fake rank of Lieutenant, a straw man for the project, a…

Tim was brutally startled out of his thoughts as he realized Stephenson had left his office chair and was standing right in front of him. The General had a face like granite and his grey eyes were shining in their orbits like hard flint stones; for a second, he reminded McGee of the Admiral just before another diatribe expressing his disappointment over what he had or had not done.

"I-I'm sorry, Sir…"

"My son? You gave my son's name to your program? CHRIS, for** my **Christopher?"

"Y-Yes, Sir. I-I'm so sorry…"

"Thank you."

"What? You… You agree with t-this name, Sir? I wanted…"

The rest of Tim's explanation ended with _'Oomph'_ as Stephenson engulfed the young man in a bone-crushing hug.

McGee was so surprised that for a few heartbeats, he remained frozen on the spot. Unwelcome souvenirs of Abby's suffocating embraces came to his mind –numerous, octopus-like displays that were usually followed by ear-piercing shouts of fake camaraderie, and then the Goth would take advantage of him and ask for his help at the Lab. There were also the times when so-called girlfriends had hugged him, promising love and a family just before draining his bank accounts dry or entering the NCIS building with murderous intentions. Over the years, and with so many disasters in the sentimental field, Tim had become persuaded that people who hugged him did it only for pure interest, so he had shied away from this non-verbal display of affection. He had been very close to tell Abby to stop hugging him, but it would have inevitably ended with tears on Gibbs' shoulder so the young man had kept silent about his discomfort.

Stephenson's gesture had taken him completely by surprise and for an instant, Tim had the horrible suspicion that the General was acting out of interest, just like the other hypocritical persons he had met in the past. And then, his newfound confidence kicked in to chase away ghosts and bad memories: this was Stephenson, the man who had sought him out to work on a capital project; the one who had protected him from Day One, given him two guardian angels (Roberts and Ziva), was frantic of worry about him during the kidnapping, had consoled him at the hospital… Stephenson was **not** a manipulative person and his gesture of affection could not be compared to Abby's or past girlfriends'. Within a few months, the General had become a mentor – a caring, concerned, no-nonsense mentor who had guided him to the way of self-confidence. He owed Stephenson more than he could say and being afraid of a hug because of past experiences was ridiculous.

Tim wrapped his arms around the older man and melted into the embrace; Stephenson answered by tightening his hold; to think the new program was bearing his Christopher's name, because McGee wanted to perpetuate the souvenir of a teenager he had never met… That was the most generous gift the General had ever received in his life. CHRIS would become an electronic portrait of his son, bearing the same qualities: concern for others, reliability, intelligence. It would become a marvelous homage to the young Stephenson! Alexander Stephenson was genuinely moved by Tim's gift and a rush of paternal affection had prompted him to throw protocol to the winds and act like a grateful father instead of the ISAF base in Afghanistan.

The two men hugged for a moment, and then Stephenson broke the embrace and placed both hands on McGee's shoulders:

"Son, what you've done… It is extraordinarily generous. I really appreciate you've named the new version of the project after Christopher."

"Please, Sir, I just wanted to show my gratitude towards you. Without your support, I wouldn't have the strength to write the computer program, never mind redoing the whole thing after the attack. You've been my rock during all those months and I have learned so much under your tutelage… I may have written CHRIS but its true spirit comes from you and I am certain your son had inherited your leadership abilities."

"Actually, I think he had taken all his qualities from his mother!" said Stephenson with a sad chuckle. "And you remind me so much of Chris, McGee: the same intelligence, determination, willingness to do the best for other people… I wish you had met him."

"So do I, Sir."

"My only regret is that you are a civilian. Were you a Marine, I would have showered you with medals for all the good work you've done!" said Stephenson while squeezing Tim's shoulders in a gesture of comfort.

"Thank you, Sir but I'm really not military material. I suffer from seasickness because of a problem in my inner ear, so joining the Navy was quite out of the question, much to my father's fury. He stated my upset stomach was a proof of a weak personality and even certificates from ear specialists have failed to convince him that motion sickness has nothing to do with character. Then, as a teenager I was a bit overweight, stuttering and insecure - a situation that lasted during my student days and beyond, so I wouldn't have been a good candidate for boot camp. I was barely fit when I entered NCIS but since I was supposed to work behind a computer all day, providing my teammates with data while they would be out in the field, it didn't matter."

Tim's green eyes shone at the recollection of those difficult first years at NCIS, in where he had been publicly ridiculed by Tony about his weight or his playing on-line games. McGee was too shy to go clubbing until the early hours of the morning so he stayed home, spending long hours in front of a screen while munching junk food. He remembered Ziva initiating him to Mediterranean cuisine and the subsequent taste for vegetables he had developed. This new diet, combined with jogging daily with Jet and the suppression of NutterButter cookies, had freed Tim from unwanted weight and he had followed dozens of workshops to improve his professional skills, in the hopes his transformation would be noticed. It had not happened, alas, and Tim had to stay in the background whereas Very Special Agent DiNozzo hogged the limelight as _"NCIS' finest agent"_.

"I'm having a hard time picturing you as an overweight federal agent, McGee. I remember you from the day we've first met, and when you stepped out of the plane at Bagram Air Base: you looked fine, and the training you've followed at ISAF has made you as fit as a fiddle."

"It was thanks to Agent David's good influence, Sir. She encouraged me into changing my diet but she accepted my suggestion to put her knives to better use, like cooking," said Tim with a smile.

"Oh, did she? Then you must also have a good influence on _her_, since she has the reputation to be very serious about her blades. Speaking of which…"

Stephenson released Tim and walked towards his desk. He opened a drawer and got out an item that had been cautiously kept hidden for weeks.

Tim gulped at the sight: it was the Dark Dove.

"I believe it is time for this knife to be returned to you, McGee."

The young man nodded and held out his hand, inwardly glad to be reunited with his favorite weapon. The sheath had been lost during the attack but Corporal Roberts had provided a new one from ISAF's armory. Tim was confident Ziva would agree to engrave the caption _'T. McGee, brother'_ on the leather again, once they both would be back in DC.

The Dark Dove shone briefly under the ceiling lights of Stephenson's office, as if it was happy to be reunited with its master. Tim examined the knife and found it spotless; any trace of sand, dust or Miller's blood had been cleaned away and the blade looked as good as new. He had inquired about the Dark Dove during his stay at the hospital and the doctors had told him that he was not allowed to carry weapons for the duration of his convalescence; besides, the blade was part of the investigation concerning the ex-Sergeant Miller so it would be kept under seals until General Stephenson would say otherwise. Tim had not insisted but he had felt a bit naked walking around ISAF without his knife. Ziva had offered to lend him one of hers but he had refused, stating it would not be the same thing as the Dark Dove.

"Thank you, Sir, but I thought the doctors said I was not to carry anything as long as I'm still a convalescent?"

"That's what rules proclaim, in order to protect patients showing signs of PTSD and cannot be trusted with weapons. But you benefit from the constant watchfulness of Corporal Roberts and Agent David so I can give you back your knife without second thoughts. Besides, I know about your will-power, son: you'd sooner stuck this blade into a wall before thinking of attacking anyone with it."

"Again, thank you, Sir. This means a lot to me."

"I daresay it does, son. This combat knife is an 'extra-insurance' provided by Agent David, wasn't it?"

"That's correct, Sir."

"Considering the many times it has saved your life, I will personally recommend Agent David's initiative to Director Vance!"

"It would be very nice of you, Sir. Agent David is in a great deal of trouble for having went to Afghanistan without permission and a recommendation from you could appease Director Vance's wrath, even for a little bit. She's a good agent, a fantastic combatant and a great friend who didn't hesitate to jeopardize her career at NCIS to come to my rescue."

"It will be done, son – and with that work you've done on the CHRIS version of the program, the results will be astonishing and Director Vance will overlook her disobedience. Can't say the same thing about Gibbs, though," added Stephenson, looking pointedly at McGee.

The young man's face had clouded over at the mention of his Boss. He had not having given a thought about Gibbs for weeks, not since Ziva had told him the ex-Marine had gone back to DC. Vance had probably given Gibbs a piece of his mind about his unauthorized trip and the scandal throughout ISAF, but Tim supposed the session had ended with a few days of suspension and Abby had thrown in a noisy _"Welcome back Gibbs"_ party at her lab. Then, Gibbs would probably have gone back to the bullpen with his usual 'grouchy-Boss' face on, terrorizing the other agents while keeping Tony concentrated on his work with a few head-slaps.

"Don't think for a minute Gibbs will get out of this mess scot-free, McGee," said the General as if he had read the agent's mind. "As Team Leader and a former Marine, he should have known better than going to Afghanistan in the hopes to rescue you, but also to cover up the major breach of security he had committed by contacting Butler behind Director Vance's back. He had disobeyed orders twice in a row and Marines have paid a heavy price for it. Even if Gibbs has acted out of concern for you, that's not something that can be swept under the carpet: all men are important to my eyes, may they be seasoned veterans or rookies and I've never considered anyone as 'expandable', a pawn to be sacrificed for the greater good. Sergeant Raff, Captain Wilkins, Private Winters and the men who have been wounded during the attack, they simply cannot be forgotten!"

Tim thought this was a very commendable attitude; he knew from first-hand experience that not all leaders were concerned about the well-being of the persons under their command, dismissing physical or psychological wounds as trifles unworthy of attention.

"Director Vance will have the final word in this matter, but rest assured that I will ask for an exemplary decision. I have known Gibbs since 1991, during the Gulf War and he was already an arrogant Gunnery Sergeant who thought too highly of himself; he knew better than to openly criticize decisions but his attitude betrayed his thoughts. The main reason the Marines Corp. kept him is that he was a damn good sniper with a cool head under pressure; but as a comrade-in-arms, he was unbearable! Frankly, when I heard through the band that Gibbs had joined a federal agency, I thought for sure he would be fired within weeks. What had prompted the NCIS Directors to keep him?"

"A high crime-solving rate, Sir," answered Tim truthfully, the Dark Dove carefully held between his hands.

"Yeah, that's probably what small-minded people see first and foremost: the results, no matter how they are obtained! But to quote Albert Einstein: _"Try not to become a man of success, but rather try to become a man of value"_. Any fool can be successful by walking over other people but this kind of achievement is always short-lived… Miller is a living proof of this truism."

Tim briefly closed his eyes at the mention of his former archenemy. Ziva had deeply regretted the Sergeant had been shipped off to the States before she had a chance to scalp him and she had expressed her anger with a few, but chosen, words that had made McGee shiver uncontrollably. The young man had wanted five minutes alone with Miller to make him pay for having laid his lubricous gaze on Aimee – and the thought made him tighten his hold on the Dark Dove – but, in spite of his overwhelming grief, he still would not have the heart to do half the things Ziva had in store for the disgraced Sergeant.

Seeing the young man's discomfort, Stephenson reached out and patted Tim on the shoulder.

"It's over, son. Both Miller and Butler are history, or very close to. From now on, let's concentrate on planning tests for CHRIS, inside the base for starters and then…"

The General hesitated for a second before asking: "Are you game for running tests with CHRIS out in the field, in spite of what had happened last time?"

"Yes, Sir," said Tim firmly.

"You are definitively a good man. Rest assured Agent David will remain by your side at all times, and Corporal Roberts has volunteered to drive you during the tests. I know the former patrolmen are eager to accompany you again: EWS Spikerman, Privates Fredericks and Emerson, even Lieutenant Lay who has fully recovered from his bout of malaria fever."

"Really, Sir? They want to come back, in spite of my failings… I mean, considering The Watcher's previous shortcomings in dealing with electrostatic discharges during a thunderstorm… Will they still trust me in keeping them safe?"

"Yes, McGee," answered Stephenson firmly, his grey gaze locked on Tim's emeralds. "And do you want to know why? Because those men are no idiots; they may not know all the details but they have figured out The Watcher was designed to detect hidden weaponry; however, it could not detect anger or resentment. No matter the magic you had poured into the former program, _it was powerless to expose Miller's treachery in broad daylight, or prevent the Sergeant from forming an alliance with Butler_. My men, just like me, know you cannot be held responsible for the actions of two rats. You're not omniscient and, to your credit, you've never pretended to be; you follow my orders to the letter and even your relationship with Captain Wilkins has not diverted you from your goals. You may not wear the uniform for real, McGee, but you have the soul of a Marine and my men have recognized it. So yes, they trust you in keeping them safe but there's no zero risk in the military – enemy can strike anytime, including from the inside. Spikerman, Lay and the others know it; Roberts knows it; even your friend David has accepted this fact and yet, they are willing to patrol with you and CHRIS to make the country safer for the Allied forces and the local population."

Tim glanced at the Dark Dove and the contact of the cold metal found an echo in his determination to achieve his mission successfully.

He would run CHRIS' trial tests at ISAF, and outside the base. Nothing, not even the trauma caused by the kidnapping, would stop him from completing the mission.

Stephenson had given him self-confidence; Aimee had given him wings; Ziva's friendship would give him the strength to take flight.

The phoenix would rise.

TBC…


	76. A pertubation

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- A short chapter this week to make a big announcement: I've got my MA! Results have been posted this week and, as you can guess, it has taken a great load off my mind. Juggling studies while working full-time has taken a lot of organization but in the end, it was worth the effort. The weekend will be spent celebrating! XD

- I'm no engineer so details about CHRIS are from my imagination.

- The quote is from the Sherlock Holmes story _'His last bow'_, written in 1917 by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (1859 – 1930).

- To Science: thank you for the scientific input about lightning. The previous chapter has been corrected!

- To Fan: thank you for your kind words!

- To Tom Williams: Ziva is going to play a big part in Tim's future ;o)

- To RedDragen: I am glad to be back too. Five months without writing fanfics was hard!

- To Guest: thank you for the precisions about the 'NutterButters'.

- To None: I think this new chapter will soothe your fears about Ziva.

- To Corala: CHRIS is a success, and Tim's hard work will be acknowledged.

- To Matthew Flower: thank you! I love to keep my readers on their toes! :oD

- To Misty: so glad you like the new version of the program being named after Stephenson's son.

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><p><strong>Chapter 75: A pertubation<strong>

_Two weeks later, at the MTAC room..._

"You mean this new version of the computer program is even better than the former Watcher?" asked an astonished Vance to the TV screen projecting the image of Stephenson. Sam Elliott, the computer tech, was seated at the control board, fiddling with the buttons to keep a clear communication.

"Better? It's a 200% improvement, Director!" answered the General. "This new version, called CHRIS, has surpassed its predecessor by the mile. McGee has spent the last two weeks in running tests inside the base and out in the field, come rain or shine, and every time his program has been able to detect guns in any location: houses, buildings, cars, mountain caves, farms, you name it! Even once, it has been able to find handguns inside a hermetic crate and dumped in the middle of a river; the local terrorists had thought it smart to keep their stock underwater made quite a face after our boys retrieve the lot.'

Vance had to chomp on the toothpick in his mouth to avoid smiling in front of his interlocutor. _And that's another win for the Allied Forces. Well done, kid!_

"Not to forget the time McGee has detected three bombs planted in a crowded marketplace here in Kabul, or when he came to the rescue of a five-year-old boy who has fallen inside an artesian well while playing with his mates," said Stephenson. "The well was very deep and dark so it was impossible to know the child's position; villagers were desperate as they had no means of communication to call for help. McGee's program detected the exact location of the kid below ground and our men, who were patrolling the area, came to the rescue with ropes and a makeshift harness. The kid was pulled out of the well in a snap to land in the arms of his grateful parents; needless to say, Marines have become very popular in this remote part of Afghanistan..."

Vance had a very hard time containing his joy in front of Sam, the MTAC communication tech; by golly, McGee's new program would boost the notion of security to the highest levels – what was he saying? To the stratosphere!

"McGee had done an outstanding job, Director. In spite of everything that had happened, the attack, his kidnapping and escape, he has never given up on the Special Project. His work will remain unsurpassed for a long, long time and enemies will learn the hard way that we benefit from a very good protection system. And if they ever steal CHRIS to copy it, well, they're on for a big surprise! In the unlikely case that the auto-destruction option would fail, McGee has booby-trapped the linear programming with a series of codes. Any attempt to break the codes inevitably ends up with the irremediable shutdown of a computer."

"I'm going to play Devil's advocate here, and ask you this: what could happen if an enemy gets his hands on CHRIS' hard drive? Data can be retrieved even from an erased hard drive, with enough patience and the right equipment..."

"That's where McGee had another stroke of brilliance, Director: he installed an encrypting application working at random, so whoever will try to retrieve data from the hard drive will only get gibberish. Not to forget he has also placed a discreet GPS in the program, meaning it will be easy to track down thieves. Frankly, I don't think anyone would have done it better than your man – and he's no pompous diva, either. Not only his CHRIS program works to the perfection but he has started to train me in using it! McGee knows he's due to come back to the States, and he knows better than leaving a user's manual behind him. Once I'll master all of CHRIS' applications, I will be able to teach selected men to use this marvel of a program. My _aide-de-camp_, Corporal Roberts, has volunteered to be the first pupil of the CHRIS classes."

"So, you mean McGee is bound to come back to DC anytime soon?"

"That's right. I'd rather keep him here at ISAF, considering the amount of brainpower our troops could benefit from him…"

Sam Elliott felt a shiver running down his spine at those words; usually, it would precede a mega-confrontation between the two Super Alpha-males. On the right corner, ladies and gentlemen, we have NCIS Director Leon Vance, toothpick-killer and no-nonsense leader of federal agents, ferociously protective of McGee. On the left corner is the challenger, ISAF General Alexander Stephenson, talent-seeker and no-nonsense leader of Marines, equally ferociously protective of McGee. Which ones of these two heavyweight champions will be the winner of the genius' custody? The answer in twelve rounds, ladies and gentlemen!

"I'll leave you alone," said Sam; he rose to go but Vance placed a firm hand on the computer tech's shoulder and pushed him back into his chair.

A few weeks ago, the Director had agreed to the replacement of some items at the mortuary and, even though Doctor Mallard had not explained how said items had been damaged in the first place, Vance had heard through the grapevine about an incident involving Agent DiNozzo and a very angry Agent David. Since the ex-Mossad was AWOL and DiNozzo tight as a clam following his demotion, the Director had not been very lucky in his unofficial investigations but he was certain it had something to do with his weekly sessions at MTAC with General Stephenson, so he wanted to keep Elliott near in case Gibbs or another member of his team wanted to pry information out of him.

"No need to leave your post, young man!" said Stephenson, his grey eyes twinkling in amusement. "I was going to say that, even though I'd love to keep McGee here in Afghanistan, he is not a Marine – much to my regret. He's a civilian and I have no authority to keep him at ISAF against his will. The boy has been running himself to the ground building CHRIS in order to make up for the destroyed Watcher, but every inch of our base reminds him of his lost comrades. McGee never complained once, mind you, but I've been in the military long enough to recognize a traumatized man when I see one. This is the reason why I'm sending McGee home in a few days, along with his beautiful bodyguard!"

Vance unclenched his jaw and made the toothpick roll to the other corner of his mouth with a relaxed move of his tongue, much to Sam's relief. The boxing match had been cancelled, ladies and gentlemen. Please direct yourselves to the nearest ticket office for a rain check…

"By the way, Vance: your boy has a favor to ask."

"Anything," was the immediate answer.

"Don't you want to hear it before you approve?"

"Nope. McGee has done a fantastic job with The Wat… I mean, CHRIS and granting him a favor is the least I can do."

"Very well, then: McGee would like you to not take disciplinary actions against Agent David."

That made the Director's eyebrows rise from about an inch of their usual location. He had supposed the kid would have asked for a raise, a promotion or, even better, a team of his own – and Vance had anticipated this kind of demand. In fact, McGee would be quite astonished learning what was waiting for him as a '_Welcome back and Well done' _present in the upstairs' office. But then again, though Vance, it is typical of Generous McGee to think of other people's future before his own. Doubtless he was worried sick about repercussions on David's career from having left for Afghanistan without authorization, and he wanted to protect the deadly ex-Mossad officer out of deep friendship for her.

"_Not to forget the possible and unjust reproaches McGee would get from Gibbs, DiNozzo and Sciuto," _thought Vance._ "Those three have a real knack in making the kid feel guilty and I can already hear what they would say: "Ziva wouldn't be in the dog house with Vance if it hadn't been for __**you**__ being kidnapped like a rookie, McGee"; "How dare you show your face around here with Ziva in trouble up to her neck, all because of __**you**__? You've made a mess looking for honor and glory and you left us in the dust without a backward glance, you dog-killer!"; "Whatever thingamajig you have built, Probie, it's nothing compared to my accomplishments – I am NCIS's finest and don't you forget it! __**You**__ have compromised Ziva's career with you crying for Mommy at the first signs of trouble and now she has to start the whole thing anew; such brilliant results, Probie! It should be written in gold letters on the wall, at the entrance of the building."_

"All right, I'll see that Agent David won't be fired from NCIS – but she's overdue for a lecture!" growled Vance. "I won't have my authority mocked by anyone or under any pretext, even out of worry towards a co-worker."

"Knowing Agent David, she's not the kind who will shirk from a difficult half-hour in your office, Director. She made her choices and she's ready to face the music but, considering the good job she has done in protecting McGee, one can only be lenient towards her past actions. Unlike Gibbs, David has remained discreet and efficient during her stay at ISAF, managing to keep her knives sheathed around my men. I wasn't aware about her prowess with paperclips, though; otherwise, I would have kept the office supplies under guard!"

That brought out a chuckle from Vance, and Sam covered his mouth with his hand to hide his mirth. Once again, Agent David had proven her resourcefulness into making weapons out of the most inoffensive-looking things!

"I will forward you the exact day and hour of McGee and David's return to the States, Vance," said Stephenson as a conclusion. "The CHRIS program will remain a secret for a while, but once I've done a presentation at the White House you'll be up to your ankles with messages of congratulations. Not to forget your boy… His talents simply cannot be wasted; he cannot remain the low man of the totem pole for the rest of his career! McGee has proven his worth in the field and he damn well knows how to use his brains in the middle of action, in spite of whatever Gibbs may say about this subject!"

"Rest assured McGee is not doomed to remain under Gibbs' orders forever, General," said Vance. "He has learned a lot those past few years and, with his experience in Afghanistan, he's more than ready to endorse more responsibilities."

Stephenson had a crooked smile, as if he could read the Director's mind in spite of the miles separating them. _Found yourself a successor, Vance?_

"Well, that's good to hear. Men like McGee cannot work with teammates who would recognize intelligence only if it bit them on the leg. Until next time, Director."

Stephenson's image was suddenly changed into a rainbow, and Sam looked at Vance expectantly. Should they get out of the MTAC room and announce the upcoming return of McGee and David, the new stars of NCIS, or should they keep quiet for the time being? Nerves were still raw amongst the remaining members of Team Gibbs – DiNozzo was downright furious about having to ride a desk and he looked like a time-bomb ready to explode any minute. Sciuto was hiding in the lab; apparently, she was keeping a low profile out of fear of Peterson's complaint but some of the other scientists had overheard the conversations she was having with herself, talks about 'getting even' or 'proving she was right all along' and 'how idiots would rue the day they have ever crossed her'. As for Gibbs, he remained in the bullpen, glued to his office chair, never taking his eyes off McGee's and David's empty desks. The silver-haired man seemed completely unaware of DiNozzo's anger or Sciuto's grumbles, in fact he looked as if he did not give a damn any longer about them – which was extraordinary, considering the blatant favoritism Gibbs had openly showed towards the ex-Senior Agent and the Lab Rat, and for years!

"Sam?"

"Yes, Sir?"

"I'd appreciate if you had a sudden bout of amnesia, causing you to forget everything about this conversation about McGee's and David's return."

"What conversation, Sir?" asked Sam with wide, fake innocent eyes.

"You're a good man. Rest assured your discretion will be noted," said Vance as he exited the MTAC room.

Sam watched as the doors slid shut behind the Director's back, and let out the sigh he had been holding for way too long. He was glad for Vance's praise but he could not help but worry about the incident at the morgue. It had been brushed under the carpet, with Agent David paying for the damages while Doctor Mallard filed up an official request for the Accounting Department; and DiNozzo had mumbled a very insincere apology to Sam, under Gibbs' angry blue gaze. But the computer tech was certain this incident would be brought to the light again, especially with David having a few accounts to settle with DiNozzo after her return; and then, maybe Vance would not be so appreciative of his discretion…

Meanwhile, Leon Vance was looking down at the bullpen from the flight of stairs leading to the MTAC room. Gibbs was staring at his computer screen as if he hoped against all odds to get a message from McGee any minute; DiNozzo had his back turned at his mentor, his granite-like face making a horrible caricature of his confident-movie-star looks with the million-dollar smile he usually offered the world. There was no sign of Sciuto, and it was for the better since the tension within Team Gibbs was dense enough to be cut with one of David's blades.

The whole situation was a recipe for disaster and Vance knew it; as Director of a federal agency, it was his job to keep his people under control at all times – including the stubborn, resentful, anger-prone ones. It was quite out of the question to welcome McGee in a poisonous atmosphere, not after he had risked life and limbs for his country during a secret mission and was still probably traumatized from the kidnapping. Consequently, it was up to Vance to make understand to _every_ member of Team Gibbs that they had better be on their best behavior towards McGee, otherwise… Well, they had been warned!

A quote taken from a Sherlock Holmes story came to Vance's mind: _"There's an east wind coming, Watson." _Of course, the world-famous consulting detective was referring to troubles brewing in Eastern Europe, which would develop later into the great tragedy of World War I. A cold and bitter wind, had predicted Sherlock Holmes but then a cleaner, better and stronger land would lie in the sunshine when the storm has cleared.

Vance wondered if it could also apply to present-day NCIS. Within a few days, a Boeing C-40 Clipper would land at Base Andrews and the east wind created by the return of McGee and David could bring turmoil within the federal agency; but then again, maybe it would make them better and stronger as well.

TBC…


	77. A recollection

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- Sun Tzu (c. 544 BC – 496 BC) was a Chinese military general, strategist and tactician, and the author of _The Art of War_.

- Translations in Hebrew are from Fonebrew.

- To Guest: thank you for your kind words!

- To Corala: I hope this new chapter will answer some of your questions.

- To Red Drageb: don't get impatient; the McGiva romance will start soon! ;o)

- To markgibbs: I like your idea of Ziva engraving a new sentence on The Dark Dove's sheath and will use it!

- To mm9999: thank you! It is very nice to know you're enjoying the story.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 76: A recollection<strong>

_Three days later and up in the sky..._

Ziva adjusted her seatbelt and looked at her surroundings: flying aboard a Boeing C-40 Clipper was certainly an upgrade compared to her travelling conditions on the way to Afghanistan: hours and hours spent aboard a freight plane, bumping into cases and with Gibbs as sole company had been quite tedious and, if she had not been worried sick about McGee, the trip would have inevitably ended with a major argument.

The ex-Mossad officer quite remembered the time she had been locked up with Tony inside a container and it had taken all her energy to keep the Senior Agent on line, and to not take stupid initiatives – such as firing a shot at the lock, which would have caused the bullet to ricochet on the steel box's walls before ending its course in one of the NCIS Agents. It had felt the same thing flying with Gibbs: she had been trapped inside a box with a stubborn-as-a-mule travelling companion, prone to take rather foolish decisions.

But this time, Ziva did not have to worry; she was heading back to the USA in a comfortable plane, and with a dear friend. It made her almost forget about the brawling (bawling?) out she would receive from Vance as soon as the Boeing would touch American soil; the Director was not going to forget anytime soon her going AWOL, going to Afghanistan against orders to retrieve McGee, and then hanging around ISAF base until the secret project was finished. She calculated that she had been absent for about five months, it made one hundred and fifty days of accumulated Vance Wrath awaiting for her at NCIS…. Doubtless it would make quite an explosion!

And yet, the young woman felt neither fear nor remorse, only annoyance at the perspective of being yelled at; there were times where friendship prevailed above everything and Vance was ex-Marine, loyal to the motto _'Never leave a man behind'_. There was a chance he would understand Ziva's motives, even if he disapproved of her actions. If not, well… she could kiss her career at NCIS goodbye, but she would not regret rushing to McGee's aid, not for a minute.

Thinking of Tim made her turn her head. The young man, seated on the next seat, was watching her with a strange look on his face.

"Tim? What's wrong?"

"Ziva, I… I meant to tell you, but with the finishing of the special project and our prompt departure from ISAF, I completely forgot to tell you… Well, actually, I-I need to tell you something and I hope you won't be angry."

"What is it?" asked Ziva, a bit worried that Tim's shyness would make a comeback. The ordeal he had endured during his captivity had changed him deeply, but Ziva feared that his return to the United States would somehow awaken his old demons of uncertainty, awkwardness and insecurity, making a mockery of the courage and abnegation he had acquired during his stay in Afghanistan.

"You're a grown woman, so much experienced than I am in the army world and maybe I should have minded my own business, but you've done so much for me that I simply couldn't stay behind and watch you being in trouble without lifting a finger to help you…"

"Please, Tim: what is it?"

"I asked Stephenson to persuade Vance in granting me a favor: I wanted the Director to not take disciplinary actions against you for having left the US against his orders."

The Israeli woman's dark eyes widened at those words: "Tim! You asked Vance – via Stephenson – to not show me the window?"

"It's _"door"_, Ziva and yes, I did it in order to protect you. I couldn't ask Vance directly as I had to make the final tests on the program and time was running out before our departure, so I asked Stephenson if he could deliver my message. Thankfully, Vance has been kind enough to grant me this favor. You're a gem of friends, Ziva, risking everything to come to my rescue and I won't forget this, not unless I lose my mind! Even though Vance wouldn't have gotten rid of you – you're too valuable for that – he certainly would have shouted until the ceiling of his office would fall down on your head and I didn't want you to go through that. You went to a war zone to save me; you've been my rock while I was grieving for Aimee; you took care of my health and my safety when I was building the new version of the program. Without you, I wouldn't have had the strength to carry on. I'm indebted to you so the least I could do was to persuade Director Vance to not read you the riot act once we're back at NCIS."

"Oh Tim, you're so thoughtful," said Ziva, grabbing at the young man's fingers out of relief. "But why would Vance read me an act about a riot?"

That actually brought a soft laugh from McGee.

"It's only an expression. It means giving a strong, hard lecture to someone who has goofed very badly."

"Oh! Well, whatever Vance had in store for me, it would be nothing compared to one of my father's lectures when an agent had his cover blown!" said Ziva, her eyes hardening at the memory of Mossad Director Eli David. He had abandoned his daughter after a botched mission in Somalia and it had taken the determination of her NCIS teammates to free her from Saleem Ulman's clutches. Later, David had not expressed much regret about having to leave Ziva behind so father and daughter had grown estranged: Eli claimed having to suppress his paternal feelings to shoulder heavy responsibilities where the survival of not just a few people, but an entire nation surrounded by hostile neighbors, depended on him whereas Ziva wanted to work in an agency where people were not sacrificed on the altar of _"The Greater Good"_. She had not spoken to her father since Somalia and it was still painful to think he had deliberately condemned her to a fate worse than death, but Ziva had never talked about it. She was not the kind to talk about her feelings to co-workers, even though they were quite concerned about her.

Tim looked at their joined fingers and he squeezed lightly in a gesture of comfort, as if to silently tell that he knew what she was thinking about; the little pressure jolted Ziva out of her reverie and she gave a smile towards the young man, grateful for distracting her of painful memories.

"You're too kind, _ahava chély_ (my love). Thank you."

"Well, it's a bit too early for thanks. It'd be better to wait until we're back at NCIs and see Vance's reaction. He's probably still angry so maybe he'll break one or two toothpicks while having a talk with you, but at least there won't be a shouting match in his office."

"Nonetheless, Tim, I appreciate the gesture. You are always thinking about the others before your well-being."

"Look who's talking," said Tim with a half-smile. "You may be a tough-as-nails federal agent and proficient with deadly paper clips, but deep down I know you'd jump on a grenade in a snap if it could save innocent people."

This time, it was Ziva who pressed Tim's fingers.

"You'd do the same, Timothy McGee, and don't let anyone say otherwise simply because you don't have military or police experience. You've learned a lot at NCIS and this knowledge, coupled with your natural-born intelligence, has led you to do wonders in Afghanistan. Doubtless your program will save thousands of Marines and civilians from terrorists, foiling evil plots before they could even start. My God, Tim, do you realize the accomplishments you've done? The US and their allies will be one step ahead of their enemies, all the time! General Stephenson was floored by your program and he's not the kind to take all the credit for his subordinates' work. I'm ready to bet he has made a glowing report about you to Director Vance, and I wouldn't be surprised if a bright future awaits you at NCIS."

Tim's smile faded at those words and he looked away, turning his head towards the window where fluffy-looking white clouds could be seen beneath the plane's wings.

"Tim? What is it, did I say something wrong?"

"No, it's just… What you've said made me remember my last conversation with General Stephenson, in his office."

"Well, it was a good conversation, wasn't it?" asked Ziva, worried at the unshed tears shining in Tim's green eyes.

McGee swallowed with difficulty as he recalled the talk he had with Stephenson, one hour before leaving ISAF…

_(Flashback)_

"_Son, you've done a marvelous job, way beyond my expectations," said Stephenson, seated behind his desk. "The CHRIS program will become a milestone in military history, as important as the discovery of gunpowder or the invention of radar. Only that, this time, it will be as a device allowing us to strike before the enemy, and avoid thousands of casualties. You can be proud of you, McGee."_

"_Thank you, Sir," said Tim, standing to attention on the other side of the desk._

"_You can also be sure that all your hard work has been reported to Director Vance, but also to the "bigwigs" in DC who were sworn to secrecy about the special project. Once you're home, expect to get a phone call inviting you to the White House, where you'll be fully awarded by the highest authority of our country."_

_Those last words had startled Tim: "Sir? Surely you don't mean…"_

"_I do, McGee. I am speaking about the Commander-in-Chief of the US Armed Forces… He knew about the Special Project since the very beginning and he has been following your progresses for months."_

"_Oh, my God…" whispered Tim, his face paling a bit under the suntan he had recently acquired while running the latest tests of CHRIS in the desert._

"_Frankly, McGee, did you really think your genius would be swept under the carpet?" said Stephenson with a fake tut of disapproval. "I believe in rewarding people according to their performances and yours has been outstanding, son."_

"_Thank you, Sir, but like I've said before, I cannot take all the credit. CHRIS is the product of teamwork and I couldn't have done it without the support of your men. If it is not asking too much, I'd like Corporal __Roberts, EOD1 Spikerman, Private Fredericks, Lieutenant Lay and Private Emerson to be rewarded for their invaluable help out in the field. Also, posthumously, Sergeant Raff, Private Winters… and Captain Wilkins."_

_This last name was whispered and Tim had lowered his eyes to the ground, trying to hide his emotion in front of the General. The souvenir of Aimee was still fresh in his mind but he refused to make a fool out of himself in front of the Commander of the ISAF base. Stephenson, Ziva and even Roberts had told him he was not to blame for The Watcher's failings during the thunderstorm and, through a long and painful process, Tim had finally agreed to acknowledge the truth. He was not responsible for the sky-breaking thunderstorm and the lightning running havoc in The Watcher's circuits, neither was he to blame for Miller's treason and Butler's greed. He had respected Stephenson's orders to the letter; he had followed the discipline of the base without a word of complaint; he had kept a low profile, loved Aimee with Stephenson's blessings and spent every second of his time on a computer program designed to protect Marines. Stephenson had reminded him that even the greatest inventions, like radar or night-vision goggles, were not immune to failure caused by lightning, sandstorms or even technical failure. Even cars' seatbelts had detractors, in spite of thousands of lives saved per year. In all cases, inventors could not be blamed for accidents or malfunctions, since infallibility was not part of human nature._

_Lost in his thoughts, Tim had not noticed Stephenson raising from his chair and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder._

"_Sir?"_

"_Raff, Winters and Wilkins won't be forgotten, son. You have my word for it."_

"_Thank you, Sir."_

"_Would you like a word of advice about your return to civilian life?"_

"_By all means, Sir."_

"_Once you're home, don't shut yourself out from your family and your friends. They will be overjoyed to see you and more than ready to help you in any way they can. Bask in their love; if you want to laugh, do it with them; if you want to cry, use their shoulders to do it. You don't need to go into details about what you were doing in Afghanistan – just give your loved ones the bare bones, and it will be enough for them to give you all the support you need. The return to civilian life goes through a multitude of small details, like opening your mail, paying bills, discovering new TV shows, going to the movies or simply doing grocery shopping – it may look mundane at times but you deserve your slice of peacefulness, surrounded by good people and every time you see them laughing, goofing about and having not a care in the world, you can be proud of yourself, knowing you've played a part in the fact they can go on with their existence, protected from hateful or envious enemies."_

"_Yes, Sir."_

"_I am quite aware of the difficulties you have with your parents, especially your father – I have met Admiral McGee in the past a few times, and let me tell you he hasn't left a favorable impression; and I also happen to know how difficult it is to work with Gibbs, whom I happen to have under my orders during the Gulf War in 1991. Here too, I'd like to give you a word of advice: keep in mind at all times that the world isn't limited to an idiotic Admiral and a grumpy Gunnery Sergeant. Regardless of what they may pretend, they don't have authority over you or your career at NCIS. Sure, it would be nice if you had their moral support but your father and Gibbs have made the choice to be contemptuous of your intelligence – their loss, the rest of the world's gain. You are not "doomed" to beg for their approval – in fact, you don't have to beg for anything from anyone. You're a brilliant man, an honorary Marine and, most importantly, you have a good heart."_

"_I… Thank you, Sir."_

"_I meant every word I've said, son, and my only regret is that you're a civilian; otherwise, I would have showered you with medals for the whole base to see! Vance would have my hide if he ever hear me saying this, but there will always be a place for you in the Marines Corp in case you want a change of career."_

"_But, Sir… I cannot be a Marine!" protested Tim, surprised by the older man's words. "I'm too old, not fit enough and I have seasickness due to an inoperable ear condition. You'd have a lousy recruit in your hands!"_

"_McGee, Marines are not limited to the boys deployed overseas. We also need intelligent people as back-up for our men, in order to keep the casualties' level to the minimum. To quote Sun Tzu, "_The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting" _and the only way to reach this goal is information, information, information. However, spies can be caught or bribed; rumors can be spread; lies can be repeated, whereas CHRIS is a source of reliable information and that's a major asset in warfare, son. Attacks are planned to demoralize our troops and to terrorize the local population. With CHRIS' protection our enemies will lose face, credit, and ultimately their sources of income since it would become difficult for them to find allies willing to finance a bunch of losers!"_

"_Indeed, Sir," said McGee with a half-smile._

"_My last word of advice, son: give yourself all the needed time to grieve Captain Wilkins, but do not renounce to the idea of finding love with another woman in the future. Captain Wilkins was a good soldier, an altruistic soul, and she certainly wouldn't want to see you alone and miserable for the rest of your life."_

"_Please, Sir…" said Tim, getting embarrassed by the turn this conversation was getting._

"_Will you think about it, McGee?"_

"_I will, Sir, but… It's just that… Captain Wilkins was a miracle, Sir, and I sincerely doubt it will occur again in my life. You have to understand that I'm not the kind of man who attracts women like flies to honey. For years, I've been rightfully catalogued as the naïve, stuttering and overweight geek who foolishly believed in true love, just to be dumped at the drop of a hat. All the women I've met wanted something from me – my bank accounts, access to NCIS, or even my life – and each time I fell for it hook, line and sinker. Over the years, I got convinced that I have been cursed somehow and the only way to protect my teammates and myself was to renounce to romantic love forever. I sentenced myself to a life of solitude but at least, nobody would have to suffer from my incapacity to see the evil side of people."_

"_Oh, son…"_

"_And then, when I met Aim… Captain Wilkins, it truly felt as if the curse had been lifted. For the first time of my life, a woman truly loved me – the only thing she wanted was my love, and in exchange she gave me hers. How will I ever met someone as wonderful as she was, Sir? Captain Wilkins was __the exception that proves the rule; now that she's gone I'm right back to square one, the fool for love."_

_Stephenson's hand had tightened on Tim's shoulder, and the General said with a steel-like quality in his voice: _

_"Son, this is the first time I've heard nonsense coming from your mouth. You are __**not**__ cursed and, like I've said before, you are __**not**__ doomed to beg for anything, including love. Your relationship with Captain Wilkins proves it; I've known the woman for years and she certainly wouldn't have taken an interest for you if you had been a barracks' Casanova, the kind who attracts slow-witted women like flies on a hump of excrements! Captain Wilkins appreciated intelligent men, McGee, and you were the perfect candidate for her. Whoever said you are too 'geeky' or 'naïve' to find true love, or that you don't know a thing about real life is a goddamned liar or a jealous jerk, whichever comes first."_

_The grip on McGee's shoulder relaxed a bit, and then Stephenson continued in a softer tone._

"_I know how it feels to lose a true love, McGee. After Clara passed away, I tried to stay strong for my Christopher and then, the plane crash happened… I'm no expert in grief counseling but I made it a point of honor to hold my head up high, refuse fake consolations such as booze or self-serving girlfriends, and to concentrate on what I do the best, meaning protecting my men at ISAF. This is my advice to you, son: focus on your future, keep found memories of Captain Wilkins and don't turn your back to life when it offers you a second chance in the shape of a good woman."_

"_But, Sir… Begging your pardon, Sir, but you're faithful to your late wife, and…"_

"_I'm an old man, McGee. Soon, the higher powers will decide of my retirement – I've postponed it three times already – and I'll enter the twilight of my existence, where the colors fade slowly to make way for darkness. You, on the other hand… You're too young, too full of life and you have too much to accomplish to immure yourself in a never-ending mourning. It would devour you until you'd turn into an empty shell of a man, lashing out at everyone within your reach with a feeling that you're "allowed" to act like this simply because you've lost somebody you loved."_

_Tim thought of Gibbs, and how the death of his wife and daughter had left him a embittered man who could only survived by pushing around his subordinates, his neighbors and even his father at Stillwater, Pennsylvania. He inwardly vowed to not become like this, as it would insult the souvenir of Aimee. Tim enjoy every blue sky, every blade of grass, every bird song in loving memory of her. He would live for Aimee and every breath he would take would be a silent 'thank you' to her, for having given him the needed self-confidence to carry on in spite of the twists and turns on the path of life._

"_Thank you, Sir, for your words and for everything. I've learned a lot under your tutelage."_

"_Likewise, son. Teaching is a two-way street and I, for one, have never been in favor of the pedantic teacher showing off his knowledge to a wide-eyed, silent audience. I've learned thousands of things from my men, good or bad, and it has completed the education I've received at boot camp. Never stop learning, McGee and you'll keep an open mind. Never lose faith in the future and you'll keep a young heart."_

_(End of flashback)_

"Tim?"

"Hunh? Oh sorry, Ziva, I was just remembering what Stephenson has told me."

"It must have been a long conversation, since you've been lost in your thoughts for a moment! May I ask you what Stephenson said?"

"He gave me some advice about returning to civilian life, my future at NCIs and… dealing with Aimee's death."

Ziva's dark eyes softened at the mention of the field doctor who had been killed in the kidnapping, while trying to save wounded soldiers.

"Stephenson said that I shouldn't give up hope on love; that I should treasure Aimee's memory but not lock myself up in grief. He said I had so much to do and to give…"

"And he's right, Tim."

"But will I ever find another woman like her, Ziva? Apart from you and Aimee, women don't show an interest towards me – well, except the ones who wanted Thom E. Gemcity's money or Agent McGee's access to the NCIS building. And let's not forget Abby, the manipulative girlfriend, who swears undying love to you one day to dump you like last week's garbage the next day. I ended up the laughing stock of the bullpen with her lies and whims, not to forget Tony's oh-so-caring nicknames of McDope, McSimpleton and McGreen."

Ziva was about to confess her feeling for Tim on the spot, but her instincts were telling her that it was too soon. McGee was still mourning Aimee and he was not the kind of shallow person to sweep the souvenir of a cherished one under the rug (or was it the carpet?). It would take time but Ziva would guide Tim on the road of recovery, every step of the way and once he would be ready to consider romance, then she would reveal her heart to him.

She patted McGee's arm gently before saying:

"These times are long gone, Tim. The insecure Probie has disappeared years ago to make way to the strong, intelligent, reliable man we all know and love. As for Tony and Abby, if they still think they can mock you at their hearts' content, well, they've got another thing coming!"

"Ziva, please! I don't want you to end your friendship with Tony and Abby, just because of me."

"They're not real friends; they are fakers, and they don't deserve you. I really regret the hard time I gave you after I've joined NCIS – laughing along with Tony's stupid jokes, disregarding your safety out in the field, letting Abby manipulate you and doing nothing, not to forget the time I drove like a maniac as punishment for having based one of your book's characters on me. I was so arrogant, so sure of myself and so filled with the idea "_Only the strong survives"_ that I've renounced to all ideas of compassion, caring, humanity. But you've changed me, McGee: armed only with patience, you've managed to mellow my temper and to make me realize that there are more to life than wars and retaliation. You may think you've done nothing much but it cannot be farther than the truth, _émouna chèl malah'_(soul of an angel). I am grateful for your forgiveness but unlike some, I don't take it for granted: I treasure it!"

Overwhelmed, Tim gave the Israeli woman an awkward, but sincere, one-armed hug and Ziva embraced him in return; the movement made her place her hand on his chest and she felt something, hidden beneath the dark blue shirt he was wearing.

"Tim, is that your knife under your shirt?"

"Yes, it's the Dark Dove. It has regained its true place, close to my heart."

"I'm glad! And, considering the damage it has inflicted to Miller, I'm even gladder – the _h'azire_ (pig) didn't deserve to breathe in your presence!"

Tim smiled and tried to relax, relishing in the close presence of his dear friend at his side. He would miss Stephenson, Roberts and the others but he was not sad to leave Afghanistan as this country would be forever linked to the memory of Aimee. It was time for him to go home, get back to work and see what Vance had in store for him. Doubtless his return would be chaotic, considering the less-than-amiable reactions of his teammates – Gibbs' outrage, Abby's scene about Jet, and Tony lying to his face at the MTAC room – but, for some reason, Tim was not concerned any more about their reactions.

Tiredness made their eyelids feel heavy and Tim and Ziva fell asleep, strapped to their seats and leaning against each other, while the Boeing carrying them to the United States flew in a sky filled with clouds and magical sunlight.

TBC…


	78. A reunion 3

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- This isn't about Tim coming back to NCIS… yet, but there are important references in this chapter. Keep your eyes peeled!

- Abdur Rahmān Bābā (1653–1711) was a Pashtun poet from Peshawar in the Mughal Empire. He is considered one of the most popular poets among the Pashtuns in Afghanistan and Pakistan (from Wikipedia).

_- Happiness is a warm puppy_ is a booklet edited by Cider Mill Press Book Publishers and containing cartoons by Charles M. Schultz (1922-2000).

- To RedDragen: thank you for your review! Hope you'll like this new chapter as well.

- To Guest: Tim's return at NCIS will be hectic, I guarantee you!

- To Corala: this is definitively a McGiva story but it will take Tim some time to get over Aimee's death.

- To Earthdragon: thank you for spotting the mistake, it has been corrected.

- To Mark Gibbs: be patient just a little more, the long-awaited chapter will arrive soon ;oD

- To None: Jet is playing a major role in this chapter!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 77: A reunion 3<strong>

_In DC..._

"JET!" exclaimed a happy Tim after a canine-shaped cannonball had made him drop his backpack, knocked him flat on his back to lick the life out of him.

The German shepherd had flattened his master on the rug of Andrew Somerset's entrance hall and was greeting him with loud barks, long strokes of tongue, madly wags of tail and nibbles at Tim's hands. Jet was a trained dog and he knew biting at people was prohibited (apart for his master's enemies: then he would gladly dig his teeth into their backsides!) but Tim appreciated the nibbling: it was his pet's special way to express joy and from the looks of it, Jet was a very happy dog.

Was Jet ever glad to be reunited with his favorite human! It seemed like ages ago when they had said their heartbreaking goodbyes, just before the door had closed on the retreating form of tearful Tim. For a horrible moment, Jet had believed he would never see his master again and that had been a frightening thought: "Teem" was a kind human who kept him clean and well-fed (not to forget the little extras from the dinner table), had given him a comfy bed-basked to sleep in and all the hours spent playing and running in the park had been so much fun! Jet could not have asked for a better master. He remembered the first time they had met and how he had attacked "Teem" - Jet had been so sick from sniffing that revolting white powder out of the tea table of his horrible ex-master, that he barely remembered what had happened after: there had been a banging noise, a pain on his right back leg, but everything that had happened later was pretty confused in the dog's mind – the sole image remaining was the female human in a white coat, the one called "Abee". Her shrills had been quite painful to Jet's ears and he had been tremendously relieved after "Teem" had taken him to his home. From then, Jet had only known peace and friendship and he would not trade it for all the bones on Earth.

Jet could not complain about his stay at his temporary-master's, though: "Andee" was a lot like "Teem" and the dog had never suffered from lacks of food, hugs or exercise. Jet had been happy to guard his new home and handler, but... Deep down, he only had one favorite human.

And said favorite human was back!

"Jet, ha ha! Oh, buddy, it's great to see you!" said Tim between two licks. "You're a great dog, the best dog of the whole world – hee hee! You're tickling me with that wet tongue of yours, buddy. Have you been a good dog to Andy?"

An affirmative "Woof!" was the answer, prompting Andy and Tim to burst out in laughter before Jet resumed his licking. He seemed determined to taste every inch of his master's face but Tim let him, overwhelmed by the feeling of home and friendship coming from his pet. He had missed Jet terribly and not being able to call Andy during his stay at ISAF to inquire about his dog had been hard. For a moment, Tim had worried about Jet would forget all about his absent master and then refuse to go home with him. Considering Jet's welcome, Tim's worries had been unfounded!

McGee and Ziva had landed at Base Andrews a few hours ago; a Jeep and his driver had taken them back to DC, like when Tim had left for Afghanistan only this time, he had a beautiful travelling companion with him. Both of them had been tired from jet-lag but Tim, always the gentleman, had insisted that Ziva should be dropped at her flat first in spite of her protests. As it was Saturday, they both agreed they should use the weekend to sleep, unpack, wash clothes and clean up their respective flats in prevision of the tempestuous Monday they had ahead of them. Ziva had thanked Tim again for having talked to Vance on her behalf and told him she would pick him up on Monday morning, ready to face the ire of their teammates (for Tim) and the fury of Volcano Vance (for Ziva). McGee had been moved by this new proof of friendship and he had squeezed Ziva's hand before leaving her, unaware that the ex-Mossad had been very close to kiss the living daylights out of him!

Once he had stepped inside his home, Tim had dropped his trunk and computer bag on the floor to make a quick, but thorough, check of the flat; much to his relief, it was in perfect working order: no floods in the bathroom or the kitchen, no missing expensive electronics and the refrigerator growled back to life after he plugged it on. Apparently, the flat had not received any unwanted visitors during his absence – however, something had made Tim frown: his gym bag had been left on his bedroom's floor whereas the young man had been certain to have put it in the hall's closet before leaving for his mission. Puzzled by the discarded bag but finding no clues about a potential burglar, Tim had stocked this detail in his memory with the promise of asking Mrs. Miller, his landlady, about this.

He had more pressing matters at hand, namely retrieving Jet and to inform Director Vance of his safe return. A quick phone call at Vance's mobile had done the trick, and the Director had once again expressed his satisfaction about the good work on CHRIS. He told McGee he would meet him at his office first thing Monday morning, and in the meantime the young agent was to unwind and sleep at his heart's contents. Vance also said he would personally call Sarah and Penny to give them the good news about their brother's and grandson's safe return. As for his teammates, Tim was to remain quiet until Monday, otherwise Gibbs, DiNozzo and Abby would not leave him a moment of quietness!

McGee was still not certain he would have called Gibbs to tell him he would be back to NCIS on Monday, even with Vance's authorization; he still had a hard time believing his Boss would forfeit the basic rules of secret missions by calling Butler, out of so-called concern for him whereas this stupid idea would have never crossed Gibbs' mind if Tony had been sent abroad in a war zone. Besides, Tim was too tired to listen to Gibbs' insincere apologies, heated arguments, or even cheap shots in the lines of making him feel guilty for the Special Project. Deciding the shit-storm would have to wait until Monday, Tim had sent a text to Andy to announce his return and ask when he could pick up his dog. Somerset had immediately answered that his friend was welcome anytime and Jet was already jumping up and down at the thought of being reunited with his master. Not wanting to drive his Porche while tired from the trip, Tim had called for a taxi and was at his friend's place in less than half-an-hour, with barely the time to enter before being tackled by his overenthusiastic pet.

After a long moment of noisy and wet greetings, McGee was finally allowed to sit up on the rug and embrace his pet. Jet tucked his furry head under his master's chin and kept on licking at Tim's neck, but at a slower pace.

"You've been sorely missed, Rambo Man, and not only by Jet! But you have a great suntan and it looks like you've built some bulk on the way, didn't you?" said Andy, deliberately omitting to mention the red scar running on Tim's forehead out of discretion.

"Andy, I don't know how to thank you for..."

"Please, Tim, it was a pleasure. Jet is a very well-behaved dog and he gave me a run for my money – quite literally since he runs faster than me. You two must zoom through the streets like grounds-to-grounds missiles when jogging! He ate heartily, he never made a mess inside the house and I think he scared off one or two prowlers in the night... Or was it squirrels, Jet?"

The only response was a loud canine sigh followed by a thorough licking of Tim's jaw.

"Guess we'll never know, eh, Tim?"

"Sometimes, ignorance is bliss!" said McGee with a smile. "Andy, thanks again for your help. I wish I could have called you but the mission's orders were very strict: no contacts with friends or relatives. At least I had the consolation knowing Jet was in good hands. Jet, you look very healthy – Andy is a good dog-carer, isn't he? In fact, he's the unsurpassed dog-carer of all DC and no-one can pretend otherwise!"

A _"yip"_ was Jet's answer before tucking his head under his master's chin, next to his neck. That way, Jet could hear the beatings of "Teem"'s heart and be certain his favorite human was here for good. McGee hugged his pet, but his expression changed when he saw like a cloud darkening his friend's face.

"Andy, what's wrong?"

"Tim, er... There's something I need to tell you..."

"Is it about Jet?" asked a worried Tim. "Did he fell sick, and you had to pay an extra fee at the vet's? If that so, I'll reimburse you to the last cent and..."

"No, no, mate! You're jumping to conclusions. Jet was never sick in your absence, not once and like I've said, he's been an ultra-good dog. It's just, well... I'm feeling torn about telling you about an incident that had happened at Langdon Park months ago. You're probably bone-tired and wish nothing more than to crawl into bed but... Are you going back to work soon?"

"Yeah, on Monday morning. What happened at Langdon Park, did Jet accidentally scare a kid?"

Andy took a deep breath and then he lowered himself on the rug, facing Tim and the German shepherd: "No, Jet is innocent of all charges. But I feel the need to tell you about the incident, especially if you're going back to the office as soon as on Monday. A few months ago, I took Jet to Langdon Park to play fetch. We were having the time of our lives and then, I overthrew the stick and it landed next to trees bordering the playing field. Jet ran to retrieve it, of course, but there was somebody hiding behind those trees and it turned out it was Abby, the Goth woman you warned me about."

Jet whined at the mention of "Abee" and Tim unconsciously hugged his dog closer to his chest; Abby lurking about at Langdon Park could only spell trouble.

"She coaxed Jet to come with her, but I called him and your dog never hesitated, he ran back to me. Abby accused me of having brainwashed Jet; I called her a fool and she screamed like a banshee. A cop showed up and asked what the screaming-mad was about, and Abby wasted no time in accusing me of having stolen Jet and animal cruelty. But the cop was not impressed by her rag-and-tag Goth attire and, frankly, she looked like she hadn't washed in a month! I gave proof of my temporary ownership, thanks to the legal document you've given me before leaving and the cop told Abby in no uncertain terms to leave the park and not bother us again. After she realized she wouldn't get things her way, Abby slapped the cop right in the face."

"She WHAT?" exclaimed a stupefied Tim, his green eyes widening at the news.

"You've heard me perfectly well, mate! Well, the cop cuffed Abby on the spot and dragged her to his patrol car, regardless of her threats or calls for help – she even ordered Jet to attack the cop, can you believe it? Once they were gone, I sneaked back to the trees and picked up a backpack containing a few bits and bobs and, more importantly, an expensive digital camera belonging to NCIS. I fiddled with the buttons to open the memory card, and it turned out Abby had been spying on me for a few weeks. She took pictures of me running with Jet, playing at the park, tying him to a post in front of the supermarket... Long story short, Abby was so certain I'd mistreat Jet that she decided to violate my civil rights to play amateur sleuth for the Humane Society."

Tim was mortified by the news and Jet, sensing his master was upset, gave him a lick on the ear as an encouragement.

"I'm sorry, Andy... I really am! Never would I have though Abby would act so outrageously during my absence."

"There's no need to apologize, Tim. You have no control over that woman's stubbornness and she acted on her own, wrongly thinking she was allowed to spy on me because of her status as your Boss' surrogate daughter."

"Yeah, well, she must have been horrified after the cop had cuffed her – she probably thought she would get out of this mess scot-free, as usual. I imagine she called Gibbs?"

"That's right; I found Abby's wallet in the backpack so I went to her place two hours later to give back the digital camera and then, lo and behold, it was Gibbs who opened her door. He was just like the description you've given me, by golly: white hair, blue eyes and a face as welcoming as a prison's gate."

"And then, what happened?" asked Tim while stifling a laugh.

"I gave Abby her stuff back and she barely managed to mutter an apology between gritted teeth, in spite of Gibbs' encouragements. I told him that I had erased the photos from the memory card but I would complain to Director Vance at once if Abby ever renewed her calumnies against me. But I didn't tell them about me rushing home before going at Abby's, and printing the photos to protect myself in case of recidivism."

"You've printed the photos?"

"Yep, and I've saved them on a USB key, which is now in a bank's safe. You've told me beforehand your Boss and your colleague Tony enjoy playing amateur burglar, and I didn't want them to sneak in my home while I'm out jogging."

The mere mention of burglars made Tim frown at the recollection of his misplaced gym bag in the bedroom. His instincts were telling him something fishy had happened and he would definitively pay a visit to Mrs. Bergman, his next-door neighbor, and ask her if anything had happened during his absence.

"You did well, Andy; it was a smart move to have stocked a copy of the photos on a USB key. Abby won't be able to do anything against you with this trump card up your sleeve."

Andy got up and walked toward the dinner table in the next room; he pulled out a drawer and fished out a file before returning to the still-seated McGee and Jet.

"I've printed a copy of the photos for you," said Somerset as he gave the file to Tim. "Gibbs assured me that Abby would stop her stupid spying act but I didn't believe him. At her flat, her whole attitude betrayed her resolution in accusing the both of us of mistreating Jet, regardless of the fact your dog adores you. Abby has appointed herself as Jet's champion and she'll stop at nothing to protect him, even if she cannot realize the only person he needs protection from is her."

"You should have seen Abby, after Jet has been brought to the lab at NCIS for examination…" said Tim as he went through the photos of the file. It showed nothing but Andy and Jet engaged in everyday activities, hardly the kind of damnable evidence used in a courtroom. "She was livid with rage and she called me a murderer for the whole building to hear but nobody had the courage to shut her up, out of fear of retaliations from Gibbs – including me. She refused to leave the lab until she'd prove Jet's innocence and she even disobeyed Director Sheppard's direct order to kennel the dog. Any other employee would have been fired on the grounds of insubordination but Abby knew it wouldn't happen to her: she benefits from Gibbs' protection and Sheppard was an ex-lover of Gibbs, so her defiance act remained unpunished."

"Boy, in any other workplace, Abby would have been fired on the spot, animal activist or not!" said a disgusted Andy. "Gibbs should know better than to show such open favoritism towards a member of his team."

"Actually, all members of his team are his favorites – except Jimmy Palmer and me. We both have to remain at the bottom of the pile since we've committed the ultimate crime of not having worked in the police, military or secret services' forces before being hired at NCIS. A civilian person has not a chance in Hell in gaining Gibbs' consideration, ever."

"That's a ridiculous and demeaning attitude. Gibbs acts as if civilians are nothing but a herd of brainless, helpless sheep that has to be handled by Big Boys wielding guns."

"He's not going to change anytime soon, Andy," said Tim with a sigh. "Gibbs has his head filled with clichés he calls _"rules"_ and he's persuaded to be a fount of knowledge about life. But my stay in Afghanistan has opened my eyes and I'm no longer impressed by him."

"Good for you! It's high time you make your own way in NCIS. Unlike your co-workers, you don't need a mentor for the whole duration of your career!"

Jet approved Andy's words with a "Woof!" and then, with his best pleading eyes, he silently asked "Teem" if they could go back to their shared territory. The stay at "Andee" had been pleasant but the dog could not help but feel home-sick and besides, he had a guarding duty to fulfill.

"Yes, buddy, we're going home," said Tim while petting his dog. "Believe me, I long to be there as well, but I had to pick you up as I didn't want to abuse Andy's hospitality."

"I thought the both of you would be in a hurry to go home, so I took the liberty to gather all of Jet's stuff – his toys, favorite blanket, two cans of _Doggie's Delights_ and half a packet of _Meat-O Jumbo_ marrow bones – in his bed for easy carrying, and the leash is hanging from the doorknob of the hall's closet. Did you come with your car, Tim?"

"No, I took a cab as I felt too tired to drive… Guess I'll have to find another one who accepts dogs."

"Nonsense, we'll take my car; it will save you a fare."

"Andy, you're a great guy. Oh! Before I forget…" said Tim. He picked up his backpack and retrieved a package wrapped in brilliantly-colored papers.

"Here's a little something for you, from Afghanistan, to thank you for having taken great care of Jet."

"Oh Tim, you shouldn't have!" exclaimed Somerset. He carefully opened the papers and took out a beautiful book bound in black leather, with the title: _"__Selected verses from __Rahmān Bābā_ _Dīwān by __Arbab Hidayatullah_" in gold letters on the front cover. Andy opened the book and saw it contained a hundred and eleven poems transliterated in Roman alphabet and written in English rhyme. Andy had a soft spot for poetry and he enjoyed reading from foreign authors, as it made a nice break from dealing with numbers all day along. For years, he had kept his poetry passion a secret after having been mocked out loud by his fellow students at school and later the university. According to obnoxious jerks, poetry was _"only good for fags"_ – conveniently forgetting the contribution of Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Robert Frost, T.S. Eliot and hundreds of other authors to American culture. Andy had confessed his fondness for poetry only after having learned that Tim was, in fact, the famous author Thom E. Gemcity.

"I hope you'll like it, Andy. Abdur Rahmān Bābā's is considered as important for the Pashtun culture as Shakespeare is for the English's, and this translation in English has been very well-received from what I've gathered."

"It's very thoughtful of you, Tim. I don't know what your work in Afghanistan was but I'm ready to bet you didn't have much time to play tourist, and even less to buy souvenirs."

"I managed," said McGee with a smile, remembering Roberts' helpfulness during the last days of his stay at ISAF. The Corporal had asked him if he wanted to buy stuff for the folks at home and Tim had answered affirmatively, but he could not leave the base. Roberts had immediately proposed his help and, two hours after being provided with a short list and some money, he had come back with a bagful of presents. Overwhelmed, McGee had tried to express his gratitude but Roberts had cut him short, saying it was the least he could do for the man who had saved his life.

Jet licked Tim's ear and, since he was a good-behaved dog, he also licked Andy's fingers before heading to the entrance hall to retrieve his leash. Finally, they were going home!

* * *

><p><em>Hours later, at Tim's flat…<em>

After a shower, a meal and a long conversation with his sister Sarah on the phone, McGee grateful sank in the comfort of his bed at home. After having slept for months in a narrow bunk, the King-sized mattress and Egyptian cotton sheets felt like Heaven for his tired body. To quote Linus in the worn-out _Happiness is a warm puppy booklet_ Tim had owned since childhood, _"Happiness is sleeping in your own bed"_!

Jet had been overjoyed to be home at least but, sensing his master was tired, the dog had reigned in his enthusiasm. He had settled down at his usual spot, on the rug in front of the unlit TV, watching "Teem" unpacking the big metallic box that was in the bedroom and throwing clothes in the bag located at the bottom of the closet. However, his owner had looked surprised after he had found two folded white papers at the bottom of the box, as if he had dug up a strange bone. Jet found papers highly inedible but his master usually appreciated them a lot, in fact he could spend long moments looking at them. But then, "Teem" had unfolded the papers and stared at them for a long, long time. Jet had let out a worried growl; was his master upset? But "Teem" had merely sighed before placing the papers on the low table next to the bed; then he had smiled at his pet and resumed his unpacking, so the dog had snuffed the matter away.

After, his owner had treated him with a bowl of _Doggie's Delights_ and fresh water before calling Mr. Tong's for a delivery meal. Jet knew there would be some nice table scraps for him and he had been right: the General Tao's chicken was simply delicious!

Then, the phone had let out its usual sound and "Teem" had talked to "Sa-ra", female human and litter-mate of his master. Jet had met "Sa-ra" before and she had been very nice to him, thus he considered her worthy of his protection (as well as "Zee-va", another female human, but she had not come in the territory for a long time). "Teem" had talked a long time on the phone with "Sa-ra" – Jet could hear the female human's voice inside the phone – and judging from the tone of his voice, the conversation had been happy but there had been also some tense moments, like during the times "Teem" mentioned "Abee" (that very name made Jet shudder) and a certain "Geebz" (Jet had a vague recollection of an older human with white fur on his head). Then, "Teem" had ended the conversation by clicking on the phone and he had told Jet that "Sa-ra" would come to their territory the next day. The German shepherd knew by experience his master's litter-mate was not to be barked, jumped or growl at and he vowed he would be on his best behavior.

After a while, his master had wanted to sleep but, strangely, he did not put Jet's bed at his usual spot in the kitchen; instead, he placed it in the bedroom and Jet had understood that his master needed some reassurance. Maybe "Teem" had been worried Jet would not recognize him after his long absence? If so, the dog's sense of smell was severely underestimated! But Jet had complied and went to sleep without protesting. It was his job to guard his master and their territory, but so was providing moral support.

Tim heard his pet sighing in contentment and the funny sound made him chuckle. His eyes closed of their own accord and he would have succumbed to Morpheus' call but his constantly-working brains were making an account of all the events that had happened since Andy had drove them back to the flat.

_(Flashback)_

_McGee was unpacking his trunk in the bedroom, aware of being under Jet's vigilant eyes and it was hard not to chuckle at the dog's scrutiny as there was nothing worthy of attention in his luggage: civilian clothes that would be washed the next day, underwear, boots, belt, medical papers, toiletries, Jimmy's MP3, Ducky's notebook... His personal laptop computer was missing, though, since it had been destroyed during the attack, and the __Marine Corps Combat Utility Uniform __had been returned. Tim had felt sad having to give the MCCU uniform back __but he had no choice: he was, first and foremost, a federal agent and the uniform was property of the Marines Corps, hence he had no rights to it. He had given it to Roberts, who had reluctantly taken it with the words _"Damn shame, as you've earned the right to keep it, Sir."

_Tim was almost finished with the unpacking but he had been in for a surprise just before removing the last T-shirt from the bottom of the trunk: a white envelope had been tucked under the clothing and he was certain he had not taken any papers with him before leaving ISAF. All his notes about CHRIS had been destroyed in the shredder of the __Logistics Support's room and he had not received any letters or emails during his stay abroad. So what could it be?_

_He picked up the envelope and saw the caption _"Tim McGee"_ written on the front and his heart had skipped a beat at the sight as he recognized Stephenson's handwriting. The General must have slipped the envelope in the trunk – or asked Roberts to do it – as soon as Tim had left his private quarters to run an errand._

_Opening the envelope, Tim had taken out two letters; the first one was from Stephenson and it read:_

"McGee,

Please find enclosed a letter from G. It has been sent during your stay but I intercepted it for two reasons: I didn't want you to be distracted by unwanted news and I was curious to know how G. would explain his attitude towards you.

It didn't take a rocket scientist to understand you were unhappy at work. So, I went behind your back and read the letter. I was appalled by the contents: it was a history of workplace bullying doubled with a permanent denigration of your talents, and I was very close to dump this letter in the trash.

I'm giving it to you so you can be ready to face G. and the others once you're back at work. Maybe G. is sorry for his callousness but keep in mind he has more pride than intelligence.

You may feel angry towards me for having intercepted this letter but, as I've said, I wanted to protect you. I keep hoping that someday, you will forgive me.

Sincerely,

A.S."

_Stunned, Tim had opened the other letter and his astonishment had grown out of proportion as he kept on reading the prose scratched on the paper._

_Gibbs had written to say he was sorry._

_Gibbs was admitting to have double standards towards the members of his team._

_Gibbs was pleading for a second chance!_

_McGee had stared at the letter for a very long time and only an interrogative grunt from Jet had managed to get him out of his trance. He had placed both letters on the bedside table, vowing to read them again in a better state of mind as he was too tired from the jet-lag to sort out personal matters for the moment. Then he had fed Jet, ordered some take-out at Mr. Tong's, and Sarah had called to announce she would arrive the next day and hug the big brother she had missed so much! _

_(End flashback)_

Tim smiled before he succumbed to sleep; seeing Sarah would be a delight and he could not wait to give his little sister the beautiful gold bracelet set with shards of blue topaz, ruby and emerald gems Roberts had found at a jeweler's shop in Kabul.

TBC...


	79. A point of question - part 1

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- Sorry for the tardiness in updating but it's been a difficult week: I suffered from a bad turn of bronchitis and a sky-breaking thunderstorm has damaged my Internet link. I've been trying to post this chapter several times since Saturday evening!

- This is about Tim's return at NCIS and it isn't a smooth ride. Tony-fans may want to skip this chapter.

- The quote _"That which does not kill us makes us stronger" _is from German philosopher Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche (1844–1900).

- The "cloud of doom" is from a Dilbert's comic strip by Scott Adams (b. 1957).

_- The Rime of the Ancient Mariner_ is a poem by English poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772–1834), published in 1798 in the first edition of _Lyrical Ballads__._

_- Mens sana in corpore sano _(A sound mind in a sound body) is from the Tenth Satire by Roman poet Juvenal (1st – 2nd century AD).

- Tony Manero is the main character of the _Saturday Night Fever_ movie (1977) interpreted by John Travolta (b. 1954).

- _Groundhog day_ is a 1993 fantasy comedy movie starring Bill Murray (b. 1950) and Andie McDowell (b. 1958).

- To Guest: I'm not certain there will be a fairy-tale ending in the lines of 'Tim goes back to NCIS like nothing had happened'. Keep your eyes peeled!

- To sprouthater: I'm glad you liked the way Jet expressed his enthusiasm for being reunited with his master!

- To Corala: Hope you'll like this new chapter as well!

- To None: Sarah will definitively play a role in helping Tim to realize Ziva's sentiments.

- To Guest: Jet-speaking is so much fun to write! ;o)

- To earthdragon: Jet has a good view of humans and he knows which ones are nefarious to his favorite human.

- To Guest: the fireworks are starting!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 78: A point in question – part 1<strong>

_Monday morning, at NCIS..._

Director Leon Vance had wanted to meet Tim early on Monday morning, as he was quite aware this would be an eventful day for everyone at NCIS and he wanted a thorough debriefing with his agent before all Hell would break loose.

Vance had kept quiet about the date of McGee and David's return as he had wanted to avoid histrionics and lousy jokes as much as possible. Oh, he knew there **would **be trouble nonetheless; it was inevitable with a Lab Rat who had never learned self-control in her life and an ex-Senior Agent still resentful about his recent demotion, both of them having the same tendency to systematically blame their woes on a certain co-worker. But McGee's sudden reappearance at NCIS would pull the rug from under Sciuto's platform boots and cut her Drama Queen act by half, just like DiNozzo would not have enough time to ruin his colleague's return by squeezing Super-Glue on office chairs and keyboards. Vance was quite aware Tim had been through the grinder during his stay in Afghanistan and it was not the time for _"mean-pranks-under-the-hypocritical-guise-of-brotherly-fun"_: the kid had matured, much more than anyone could imagine and it would be grossly insulting to McGee to let some inconsiderate colleagues fall into their old pattern and treat him as their whipping boy, making a mockery of his accomplishments abroad.

So the Director had asked McGee to come at 6:00 a.m. in his office on Monday morning, so they would have enough time to talk about important matters without being interrupted by idiots. He had everything planned for a smooth meeting – fresh coffee in the pot, water bottles, a selection of Jackie's muffins and a box of Super-Strong toothpicks. But Vance was having a hard time recognizing the young man seated in front of his desk!

McGee _had _changed, that was undeniable. Physically, he had morphed into an athlete and the dark grey suit Tim was wearing could not hide the muscles he had built while exercising at ISAF. His face was tanned, making his green eyes shine more intensely in their orbits, and his light-brown hair was enhanced with blond strands from sun discoloration. He had earned a few scars as well, the most obvious being the one he sported on his forehead, just above the right eyebrow. Vance knew the ISAF doctors had given McGee a clean bill of health twice, once after the attack and the second one before he had left Afghanistan, but he was more concerned about the mental health of his agent. McGee's courage was almost legendary at NCIS – hard not to admire a man with such a tolerance level towards annoying co-workers – but Vance knew better than take anything for granted unlike Gibbs, DiNozzo and the famous rule no. 8. The amazing fact about people making rules was that they were the less inclined to follow them!

"How are you feeling, Agent McGee?" asked Vance as a polite introduction.

"Physically? I'm fine, Sir, just tired from the jet-lag. Emotionally, it is very mixed. On one hand, I'm happy and relieved the CHRIS program is running smoothly, and will bring a good protection to our troops and innocent civilians likewise."

"You've outdone yourself with this fine example of computer-engineering brilliance, McGee. Stephenson was merely looking for a mine-detecting device and you've provided him with a magical 'screen of detection', able to spot the tiniest weapon in a wide perimeter. You may not realize it for the moment but CHRIS is a huge step forward in the peacekeeping process, leaving bloodthirsty conspirators in the dust. It will also be used for homeland security so our fellow citizens won't have to fear being gunned down in the streets by trigger-happy madmen with brains filled with horse's dung. You have every right to be proud of your work; heck, if I were in your shoes I would have danced in the streets all night!"

Tim had a small smile as he pictured his stern-looking Director turning into an impromptu hoofer in the streets of DC, under the amused eyes of passers-by. It would be quite a sight to behold!

"But, on the other hand...?" prompted Vance.

Tim let out a sigh, and then he looked at his superior straight in the eyes: "On the other hand, I cannot help but feel disconnected, empty and a bit nervous, Sir. Disconnected from the hustle and bustle of civilian life after having being in the military world for months; empty since the CHRIS program has mobilized my brains for months and now there's nothing left for me to work on; and nervous about my future, as I am aware my departure has made quite a ruckus within NCIS and some of my teammates may be not very... welcoming after this episode."

"Are you worried about their reactions, Agent McGee?"

"I am more worried about **my **reactions, Sir. This stay in Afghanistan has widened my universe; I've met good people who were actually glad for my help. I had a supportive supervisor who would guide me in a firm but gentle way, instead of a barking-mad tyrant obsessed with his view of the world. I met courageous Marines, who accepted me right away, regardless of my inglorious fake status of a pencil-pusher Lieutenant carrying a laptop around. They didn't care if I've never been in a war zone, or my lack of military training or why I was working on a Humvee from sunrise to sunset – they watched over me during patrols as if I were one of their own instead of an unwanted outsider. Some of them were killed while protecting me and I'll never be able to express my gratitude..."

Tim's voice broke a little at those words and Vance picked up a toothpick from the box on his desk, before popping it at the corner of his mouth.

"General Stephenson told me about your friend, McGee. I'm truly sorry. I know how painful it is not being allowed to grieve in the open."

"Thanks, Sir," said Tim, blinking away his tears as the souvenir of Aimee's lovely smile stabbed him in the heart.

"And I won't insult your mourning by using meaningless clichés, like: _"That which does not kill us makes us stronger" _or_ "there are plenty more fish in the sea" _or_ "Life goes on"_. Contrary to some ridiculous, macho-crap, locker-room beliefs, sentiments are not a weakness; quite the contrary, it is a mark of greatness – of a mind capable to see further, to look deeper, to not let itself being settled into oh-so-comfortable stereotypes preventing us to think. Anyone granted with eyes can see you're hurting from your loss, Agent McGee, and there's absolutely no shame in grieving for someone you loved even though you're brave enough to cry in silence. But as painful as mourning is, it is also the first step in the right direction of re-gaining control of your life and making plans for the future."

"Thank you, Sir," said Tim as he lowered his gaze to the office's floor, taking comfort in the Director's words echoing Stephenson's inside his mind: "_Don't turn your back to life when it offers you a second chance in the shape of a good woman. You're too young and you have too much to accomplish to immure yourself in a never-ending mourning"._

"I quite understand why you are afraid of your own reactions. You've lived for more than six months in a context that was completely different from your usual surroundings; you saw a lot and you went through a lot, so you're bound to lose patience against annoying, petty-minded co-workers. An understandable reaction but I also know your personality, and it'd make you very unhappy to get into an argument with your teammates. You're too much a good man to enjoy contentious situations so it brings up a problem."

Tim raised his emerald-colored eyes towards Vance.

"A problem, Sir?"

"Yes. Considering your teammates' behavior and the ordeal you went through, I simply cannot let you go back to Team Gibbs. You have far more experience than DiNozzo, and I am aware of his fear of being bested – a character trait that had led him to cheat, lie and outmaneuver his colleagues. But, during your absence, Agent DiNozzo had to defend his actions in front of a review board and its members had not been impressed in the least by his saber-rattling and his blatant disobedience to orders, the latest being the stunt he pulled at the MTAC room. Long story short, Agent DiNozzo has been demoted from Senior Field Agent to _Senior Agent_, meaning he's been stuck behind a desk for weeks now and it has not improved his mood at all; since he's not the master of self-criticism, he's prompt to place the blame of his demotion on you since everything is supposedly "your fault" for having left the team."

Tim's emeralds hardened slightly at those words. He had not been aware of Tony being demoted since both Ziva and Gibbs had left the USA before the last and disastrous session of the review board. So Tony had been retrograded to Senior Agent, meaning he was not allowed to investigate crime scenes: a major blow to his oversized ego! DiNozzo prided himself in being a man of action and, according to him, only weaklings and the inexperienced remained behind, providing clues to the 'Big Boys' via phone – thus, a perfect job for McGee the computer tech. After Kate's death, Tim had hoped to be sent in the field more often but Gibbs had decided otherwise after Ziva had joined the team. He had quickly partnered the ex-Mossad officer with DiNozzo, regardless of Tim's seniority at NCIS and how lack of field experience would cripple the young man's career later on.

And then, by a strange twist of events, it was Tony who had been relegated to the shadows while the former Junior Agent had been brought under the spotlight! Doubtless Tony would bear a grudge the size of Gibraltar's Rock and would not waste a minute in trying to put the burden of responsibility on McGee's shoulders, as he had done it countless times in the past.

"Tony may be looking forward to blame me for his troubles but I've learned a lot during my stay abroad, from General Stephenson, the Marines and also from you, Director. The days of _"Making-McGee-guilty-for-other-people's-actions"_ are over and Tony has better realize this fact quickly, otherwise being demoted to a desk will be the least of his worries."

"That's good to know, Agent McGee. But you and I know better than to waste time trying to convince co-workers who don't want to change their minds. Besides, DiNozzo is not the only one looking forward to dump his woes on your shoulders: there's also Sciuto, who had broken several records of stupidity and insubordination during your absence. I had to suspend her for three months without pay and yet, she managed to make a fool out of herself inside and outside NCIS."

"My friend Andy told me about her attempted dog-napping at Langdon Park and her subsequent arrest, Sir."

"Yeah, that one was a beauty!" grumbled Vance around his toothpick. "I had to inform HR about Sciuto having a police record and having to go to court on a Citation Release; some administrators were wondering why I didn't give her the boot at once, learning of her obsession about your dog. But that was nothing compared to her attitude once she came back to work: she insulted Forensics Tech Richard Peterson, accused him of thievery and even lashed out at Doctor Mallard who was trying to calm her down. Frankly, if it hadn't been for the matter of Gibbs and David running to Afghanistan after you've been kidnapped, I would have gladly kicked Sciuto out of NCIS for an extra three months!"

The mention of Gibbs and Ziva disregarding Vance's orders to rush at his rescue made Tim remember the 'cloud of doom' hovering above the ex-Mossad's head. Stephenson had told him about having pled Ziva's cause to the Director, but Tim could contend himself in crossing his fingers in the hopes that she would not be racked across the hot rocks spouted by a fuming Volcano Vance.

"Speaking of Agent David, Sir… I would like to thank you for the leniency you've agreed to show her about her unauthorized trip to Afghanistan. She acted out of friendship and it is not in her nature to remain idle when one person she likes is endangered. Besides, she's been of a tremendous help during my convalescence at ISAF – she kept the nosey at bay, ensured my safety and she lend me her shoulder to cry on whenever I needed to. You may not approve of her, Sir, but in the end she proved to be indispensable to help me recover from the kidnapping. Therefore, I'm forever in your debt for agreeing to not launch disciplinary actions against Agent David."

Vance let out an exasperated sigh that sounded like a steam-blast eruption, and took out the badly-chewed stick of wood from his mouth before tossing it into the wastebasket. He picked a new toothpick from out of the box and chewed on it with a vengeance while considering the seated young man.

"You don't have to play Devil's advocate, McGee. Stephenson has given me a full report of David's actions at ISAF and he said she did a damn good job as your bodyguard. I've agreed to not kick her out of NCIS but she's overdue for a reprimand, mark my words!"

"Yes, Sir," said Tim with a sigh, dissatisfied that he had not been able to spare Ziva from a long, tedious moment in the Director's office.

"Anyway, Agent McGee, my point is that I cannot allow you to go back to your old team. You've surpassed DiNozzo by the mile with your war experience and the fantastic job you've done with CHRIS, and making you work again alongside an egotistical Agent will be nothing but a waste of your talents. Same thing with Gibbs: regardless of the fact that your trip abroad has finally opened his eyes, I don't imagine his recently-acquired wisdom will last long under DiNozzo's and Sciuto's whines. As soon as one of them would start complaining about your new Superstar status, Gibbs will pressure you into "restraining your knowledge" so you won't put his favorites in the shades – and that's not something I'm willing to let happen, Agent McGee. NCIS needs your brains, your expertise and your heart; I'm not going to stay still like a dummy and watch you melt into the background, once again, just to avoid offending DiNozzo's or Sciuto's sensibilities. What you need is some extra field training to become a full-fledged agent and the only way to acquire it is to remove you from Team Gibbs."

"Do you mean I'm going to be reassigned to another team, Sir?" asked Tim prudently.

"That's correct, Agent McGee. I've already put in a request for you to join Hetty Lange's team in Los Angeles."

A stunned silence followed Vance's announcement. Tim's mind was reeling with the fact that he was to leave DC, cross the continent and go to California to work for Henrietta "Hetty" Lange, Operations Manager of the NCIS Office of Special Projects in Los Angeles. Tim had previously met Agent G. Callen, Senior Special Agent and one of Gibbs' rare friends, during an operation and he had been enthralled by the professionalism between Callen and his teammates Sam Hanna, Kensi Blye and LAPD Liaison Officer Marty Deeks, not to forget intelligence analysts Eric Beale and Nell Jones. Sure, there had been some good-natured bantering between them but Tim had quickly realized those guys were not the kind to play mean pranks in an attempt to prove the superiority of an Senior Agent over a Junior Agent. Eric and Nell were treated as equals by the other members of the team, instead of being disparaged in public for their prowess with computers. Marty Deeks' input was constantly included during missions since he had invaluable cop experience coupled with a good instinct. Callen, Hanna and Blye were sworn-in NCIS Agents but, unlike Tony, they never got big-headed from carrying a federal agent's badge – they considered every person of their team as important and did not hog the limelight as if their lives depended on it. Then again, with a no-nonsense and no-favoritism boss like Hetty Lange, the NCIS Los Angeles' office was not a place for show-offs!

"Oh, wow… I mean, Sir… Oh, wow!" said Tim, for once at loss for words.

"Well, well! It looks like I've managed to make a writer speechless!" said Vance with a light chuckle. "Yes, Agent McGee, if you agree to this transfer, you will go to our LA office and serve a term of two years. I've given Hetty a complete copy of your file and, needless to say, she's quite impressed by your education and accomplishments. She knows that you've gained good combat skills in Afghanistan but you'll need extra training in undercover operations, interrogation and field work – all what you should have learned from Gibbs years ago, but Callen and Hanna will be more than happy to teach you. So, do you agree being transferred to LA?"

"Yes, Sir! I'm very grateful to you for this opportunity to broaden my knowledge."

"Good man! Now, your transfer will be effective within six weeks; it will give you enough time to pack up your belongings, handle the paperwork and give your notice to your landlord."

"Believe me, Sir, I'll be happy to," said Tim with a bitter smile. "My sister Sarah came to see me yesterday evening to tell me about her foiling a burglary attempt at my flat with the help of Agent Gibbs. The culprit was Nick Miller, my landlady's son."

"I seem to recall a similar incident… Didn't a kid burglarize your apartment to steal your identity and all your money?"

"Yes, it was also Nick, only he was only twelve years old at the time. Agent DiNozzo thought it too funny that a kid so young had been able to rob me blind, so he took Nick under his wing for the whole duration of the investigation. My career almost came to an abrupt end that day, with the FBI suspecting me of having sold my identity as a federal agent to the highest bidder, and yet DiNozzo considered protecting a thieving kid was top priority."

The toothpick in Vance's mouth broke in two under the unforgiving pressure of the clenched jaws. _DiNozzo, you damn fool! And you wonder why you've ended up demoted?_

"Well, Nick has grown up and he courageously waited for me to leave the country to steal my belongings again. Only Sarah's and Gibbs' timely arrival has prevented me to come home in an empty flat. According to my sister, Nick has been sent back to Juvenile Hall and he's waiting for his trial; he will probably plead for clemency, considering everything was my fault for having left my flat in the first place."

Vance considered the seated young man with attention and thought about a nervous, stuttering, eager-to-please computer tech he had met years ago. That kid was gone now, replaced by a confident and experienced federal agent who, in a few years, would become Director of NCIS…

"Yes, well too bad his cry-baby act is doomed to fail. Like you've said, the days of blaming Agent McGee for other people's misdeeds are over. It's high time said Agent McGee gets rid of the albatross birds tied around his neck and concentrate on his career, right?"

"Right, Sir," said a determined Tim.

"I'll send word to Hetty for your transfer to her team. In the meantime, you're on paid vacation – but I want you to see Dr. Turner, our resident psychologist, for mandatory therapy sessions. Coming back from a war zone is no small matter and I won't have you neglect your mental health for anything, Agent McGee," added Vance firmly as Tim opened his mouth to protest. "You cannot consider leaving DC and shoulder new responsibilities in a completely different work environment while having problems festering inside your mind. Have you ever heard of the quote _Mens sana in corpora sano_?"

"I sure did, Sir."

"Well, I'm a firm believer of this quote, do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir," said McGee with a sigh. His initial reaction had been to say that he did not need therapy after having gone through the whole convalescence procedure at ISAF but talking to a new psychologist could only do him good. At ISAF, he had been so focused on CHRIS that he had barely the time to process with his feelings of loss and desperation after Aimee's death. Ziva had been wonderfully supportive, as well as Stephenson but they could not match the skills of a professional therapist. He would talk to Dr. Turner about Aimee, the kidnapping, the nefarious Sergeant Miller and pouring his heart out would help him to finally reach peace. He could not talk about all this to Sarah or Andy, due to the secret nature of his mission, and he sure was not going to try talking to Admiral McGee; the old man would probably curse him to all eternity for having taken a minute of his precious time with trifles.

"Good! You're dismissed. And, on a personal level, I'm damn glad to see you alive and whole, Agent McGee!" said Vance, extending his hand to Tim. "You're the future of NCIS and I'll retire happily knowing this agency is in good hands with you."

The surprised young man shook the Director's hand after a second of hesitation, barely registering what Vance had just said. Surely, he did not mean…?

"Now go home, Agent McGee and get a well-deserved rest, you've earned it! Pam has scheduled a first session with Doctor Turner for the day after tomorrow and she will e-mail you the details. But don't mention your transfer to the other members of your current team – as far as everyone knows, you're on vacation until Doctor Turner estimates you to be fit for duty. Gibbs and co. will probably pester you with questions but stick to your guns and remain silent about your next career move. Since Gibbs is Callen's friend, he's bound to make an _encore_ of the goof he has committed with that renegade mercenary, and jump on the phone to warn Callen about your arrival!"

* * *

><p>A stunned McGee was slowly walking down the steps leading to the bullpen, his mind still trying to wrap itself around what had transpired in Vance's office.<p>

He was to leave DC for sunny LA… He would work with Hetty Lange, the smallest and yet most intimidating member of NCIS… He would finally become a full-fledged field agent… He would see the Pacific Ocean every day; maybe even learn to surf with Marty Deeks… Jet would adore the beach! Of course, Tim would be sad to leave Sarah, Andy and his friends from the Boys and Girls Scout Club, but his stay in California would not last forever. In a few years, he would be back in DC and embrace new responsibilities at MCRT. Vance had hinted about his retirement and Tim was beyond pleased that the Director had actually thought about him as a possible successor. It felt wonderful that people in high places actually considered his work as being so valuable, and Tim inwardly sworn that he would not let Vance down, nor Stephenson, Roberts and all the people who had trusted him in Afghanistan. He would make them all proud and…

"**McGEE!"** shouted a voice in the quietness of the deserted bullpen.

Startled, Tim made a dangerous movement to grab the Dark Dove tucked beneath his shirt, but his hand stood still as he recognized the author of the shout: it was Tony DiNozzo, who was standing close to his desk with an astonished-looking Gibbs by his side.

"DiNozzo," answered Tim rather coldly, refusing to address his colleague by his first name. He was still crossed at Tony for having lied to him about being Ziva's boyfriend and, considering the Senior Agent's belligerent posture, an apology was not included in the order of the day.

"Tim! You're back!" exclaimed Gibbs, his blue eyes brightening at the sight of his youngest casually walking down the steps. But his joy was short-lived as Tony launched the harsh diatribe he had kept in stock for his colleague for months:

"What's with the diva-like attitude, McRambo? Couldn't you have warned about your return instead of leaving us in the dark? Or maybe you think you're waaaay too above us now, and giving a call to your teammates is not a task for an important man like you?"

"Glad to see you too, DiNozzo. How have you been?" asked Tim pleasantly.

"How **I** have been? **HOW I HAVE BEEN?** My career is in the dumps and you have the nerve to ask? Get down here and I'll give you a glimpse of how I feel about being retrograded to desk-bound pen-pusher thanks to you, McTraitor!" said Tony. He banged his fist on his desk in sheer frustration and his Mighty Mouse stapler fell on the floor in the process.

"Tony!" exclaimed Gibbs.

"I was wondering how long it would take before you'd put the blame of your situation on me, DiNozzo. I'm not surprised it took you about five seconds to fall into your usual pattern, conveniently forgetting that I haven't had any influence on the review board's decision," said Tim, calmly walking down the steps.

"There'd never have been a review board in the first place if not for you trying to play the hero in Afghanistan – and failing pitifully!" shot Tony back.

"That's right, keep on lying to yourself and the rest of the world, DiNozzo. Keep on imagining that people here at NCIS are not sick and tired of your lousy jokes, the name-calling, the open disdain you show towards the learned, all this in a desperate effort to appear as virile as the movie stars you admire so much. Keep on thinking that you'd never have to answer for years of public disparagement, not only towards me, but also to all the people working for this agency that happen to be smarter than you. After all, you are NCIS' finest so you can do anything, including alienating co-workers by constantly lying to their faces."

"Whaddaya mean, lying? I don't lie! I'm loyal, the most trustworthy agent of NCIS!" said Tony. He tried to move towards Tim but Gibbs restrained him by a solid grip on the Senior Agent's shoulder.

"Wow, that's a great example of a short-term memory, DiNozzo. From my part, I haven't forgotten the lie about Ziva being your girlfriend."

"I knew you'd make the biggest fuss about that little joke I've pulled at the MTAC room – you never had a sense of humor, McSourpuss!"

"Oh yes, that's right, lying is a sign of humor and besides, it's not a big deal when it comes to my modest person; after all, you've already lied many times in the past, regardless of consequences for my career. As long as Anthony DiNozzo has his fun, nothing else matters – especially not Tim McGee, the second-class Agent of Team Gibbs."

"McGee, you were never…"

"Yes I was, Boss. Just admit it, for God's sakes!" said Tim in an unexpected burst of anger. "Admit that I've never reached Tony or Abby's status to your eyes, and never will. No, I am the low man of the totem pole, the expandable one, the unimportant, the clumsy, the Invisible Computer Tech – take your pick! And you sure did a great job in instilling those ideas into your adopted son's mind, since he has spent the past eight years yelling all over town that the useless Probie will never amount to the level of Very Special Agent DiNozzo."

"So it finally comes out in the open, eh, McResentful?" asked Tony with a venomous smile, rushing to Gibbs' rescue. "You're jealous that Gibbs considers me as his son, and not you. That's pathetic, coming from a man who is supposed to be intelligent – a fine example of higher education been wasted!"

Gibbs had remained gob-smacked as the two men he considered as his own kids were engaged in such a bitter shouting match. He had been dreaming about Tim's return for weeks and he could not wait to embrace his youngest, but this verbal attack had taken him completely by surprise and he had no idea of how to stop it.

"Actually, I could not possibly care less about you being Gibbs' surrogate son," said Tim with a hint of sadness in his voice. "Oh sure, there's been a time when I'd loved to be considered as such, too, but I realized it was only wishful thinking so I grew out of the idea."

Tony remained still for a few seconds and Gibbs, ignoring the pain in his heart from Tim's words, seized the opportunity to head-slap his Senior Agent.

"OW! What was that for, Boss?"

"You have to ask?"

"C'mon, Boss, McGee deserved my wrath! He deserted the team, put us all in trouble and now he comes back with a smug smile on his face, trying to make us believe that nothing that had happened is his fault."

"**IT'S NOT HIS FAULT! I'VE ALREADY TOLD YOU TO STOP SAYING THAT!"** shouted the white-haired man, reaching the end of his patience.

"Save your breath, Boss," interfered Tim as he reached the bullpen's level. "DiNozzo will never admit, not in a million years, that he is reaping what he had sown from his blatant lack of teamwork skills. If a demotion won't open his eyes, then nothing will so trying to make him see the light is just a waste of time."

"Oh, yeah? Well, what about a little one-on-one, McPreacher? Eh? You and I at the gym, on the boxing ring, and we'd settle our accounts face-to-face like real men, if that's what you pretend to be?" asked Tony.

"I have no time for such puerility, DiNozzo."

"Repeat that?"

"You heard."

"Too scared, McCoward?"

"No, too tired. You really ought to realize that high school is over, you're not Tony Manero and people tire of overgrown adolescents."

Tim took a minute to consider his colleague, who was foaming by the mouth, and his Boss, who seemed to hardly believe that the computer tech actually had the gall to stand up to the Senior Agent. He let out a sigh: more than nine months of absence and the only things he got from his co-workers were sarcasms and arguments, not a brilliant result. In fact, for a moment it felt like nothing had changed during his stay abroad and he was doomed to endure the same situation as before, trapped in a never-changing environment like Bill Murray in the _Groundhog Day_ movie!

But deep down, Tim knew it was not the case, just his old insecurities making a very brief comeback before vanishing like ghosts in the mist and the young man suddenly realized he was wasting his time talking to a pair of stubborn mules. Gibbs and Tony were not delirious of joy about his return? So be it. He had important things to do and a departure to LA to plan. Remembering Vance's orders to lie low until his transfer would be effective, he turned heels to head towards the elevator.

"McGee, where are you going?" called Gibbs.

"Home, Boss. Director Vance has ordered me to rest and attend therapy sessions until Doctor Turner approves my return to work."

"Ah! I knew it. You're still shaky from your misadventures and you need to cry in a shrink's lap. So much for being toughened up in Afghanistan!" said Tony with a contemptuous smirk on his face. "You may have acquired a bit of muscle and your face isn't the color of sour milk anymore, but you're still not the agent you don't have a chance to become. Ziva and I went straight back to work after Somalia, McSoft! And what's with that scar on your forehead, anyway? Are you trying to imitate Harry Potter?"

**TWACK.**

"OUCH!"

Tim unconsciously touched the red scar above his eyebrow, a reminder of the attack in the mountains. The doctors at the ISAF's hospital had assured him it would fade, but not before a long time and Tim would have to endure the painful memory linked to this scar whenever he used a mirror for washing or shaving.

"No, DiNozzo. This is the mark of a wound I sustained during the attack, in which four of my friends got killed."

"Probably the lousiest of the bunch, if they were your friends," growled Tony while massaging his hurting skull. "They were probably too drunk or too high and got ambushed like wet-behind-the-ears Probies such as you."

"DiNozzo, that's quite enough from you!" roared Gibbs. "Sit down and shut up, I won't repeat it."

Tim did not deign to answer Tony's latest slur. Shrugging the whole matter off, he walked towards the elevator when he felt a presence running after him. He turned about and to his relief he saw it was Gibbs coming up to him.

"McGee! Wait… I want you to know, I'm glad you're back amongst us. I really am, kid."

"Thanks, Boss," said Tim laconically, too tired and too hurt from the confrontation with Tony. The jet-lag was coming back with a vengeance and he wished nothing more than to go home and crawl into bed, with his dog guarding his dreams, so he hoped this conversation with his soon-to-be former Boss would be over soon.

Sensing the young man's tiredness, Gibbs gently cupped Tim's face in the palm of his hand, making the green eyes blink in complete disbelief. The ex-Marine's heart ached inside his chest: his youngest had not thought he would be missed and the less-than-amiable welcome he had just received from Tony had confirmed his fears, but Gibbs would be damned to all eternity before he would let his baby leave the NCIS building with such depressing thoughts clouding his brilliant mind. Besides, he had quite an apology to make and, burying Rule no. 8 without remorse, he said:

"McGee… Tim, I also wanted you to know that I'm not asking you to forgive me on the spot for having called Butler. I've done a terrible mistake and I'll understand if you remain angry at me for a long time but I swear to you, on Shannon and Kelly's graves, that I never wanted you to be hurt. It will haunt you for the rest of my life to know that I've unintentionally caused you grief; someone said the road to Hell is paved with good intentions – well, I've paved a good portion of it! It's my memory now, my shame and I won't fight the sanctions Vance has in reserve but I still keep a glimmer of hope that hasn't been snuffed out by the wind of my stupidity: that, one day, you'll be able to forgive me."

Tim swallowed with difficulty the big lump blocking his throat.

"Boss, I… I read your letter."

"You did?" asked Gibbs in surprise, his eyebrows shooting up to the silver strands of his hair.

"Yeah, General Stephenson slipped it inside my trunk while I was packing to leave ISAF. He wanted me to have it only after I've touched American soil."

"Oh! Well, that's good – very good, indeed."

"Boss, I know that you didn't want to hurt me deliberately."

"McGee, I will never forget that my actions have let to your kidnapping and to the death of your special friend. My indiscretion has…"

"Special friend? What special friend?" called Tony out loud from his desk.

TBC…


	80. A point of question - part 2

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- The second part Tim's return at NCIS. Like I've previously said, Tony-fans and Abby-fans may want to skip this chapter.

- Tim's prowess with a knife is not to be imitated at home!

- The seven deadly sins are _luxuria_ (lust), _gula_ (gluttony), _avaritia_ (greed), _acedia_ (sloth), _ira_ (wrath), _invidia_ (envy) and _superbia_ (pride) (from Wikipedia).

- "_Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned"_ is a quote from the play _The Mourning Bride_ (1697), written by English playwright and poet William Congreve (1670 – 1729).

_- The 40-Year-Old Virgin_ is a 2005 American romantic comedy film directed by Judd Apatow and starring Steve Carell.

- To Mark Gibbs: I think you are going to like this new chapter!

- To WritenPenDragon: Thank you for your kind words – Tim's return is going to cause some major fireworks!

- To None: Tim is too mature to settle his accounts on a ring… However, the Dark Dove is going make an appearance pretty soon!

- To Miu1: Tony is not going to be punched but he'll learn soon that it doesn't pay to slander Tim's lost love.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 79: A point in question – part 2<strong>

_At NCIS…_

"What special friend?"

Gibbs cursed both his inattentiveness and Tony's sharp hearing. He should have known better than to talk to Tim within earshot of the nosiest agent of NCIS! Caution would have required asking McGee to step inside his office (a.k.a. the lift's cabin), select any level and, after the cabin had started moving, he would have switched on the red two-way Emergency Stop button, causing the cabin to stop between two levels. Then Gibbs would have talked to his youngest quietly, without any unwanted interruptions, and maybe it would have been the first step on the road of their reconciliation.

But Gibbs was also ex-Marine and a federal agent in charge of investigating murder cases; even though he had never bothered to learn the necessary _finesse_ for dealing with traumatized persons, may they be military or civilians, he knew better than to entrap a kidnap victim inside an elevator's cabin for a conversation said victim was not keen to have – and McGee had been kidnapped, sequestrated in God-awful conditions, tortured and terrorized before turning the table on his abductors, another demonstration of his cleverness but the trauma was still present in the young man's mind. Besides, Gibbs had been dying to talk to his youngest son, to explain, to make him understand that he loved him as much as the rest of his 'kids' and he had been pleasantly surprised learning Tim had read the letter intercepted by Stephenson. His impatience and his eagerness to talk to Tim had made him momentarily forget about Tony relegated to his desk.

However, Tony had not missed a thing of his Boss' conversation with the Probie; even worse, Gibbs' gentle gesture towards Tim had made DiNozzo see red. His old fear of being replaced as his mentor's surrogate son raised its ugly head, making his blood boil in his veins as reason was abruptly threw in the backburner of his mind. So, it was what McGee had been planning all along, eh? Going abroad on a hush-hush mission and then coming back and making it clear that he had taken Tony's place in Gibbs' affections, absence made the heart grow founder and all that jazz? Well, if it were the case, then Probie was overdue for a major wake-up call!

The Senior Agent could not deny McGee had changed a lot since the last time he had seen him in the MTAC screen: the guy was even more muscular, more tanned by the sun than before, the kind of hunk causing sunbathing girls by a pool to swoon out of desire. But he also had a haunted look on his face and that red scar on his forehead made him look like a war veteran of some sorts, the kind of thing people respected at first glance.

However, Anthony DiNozzo Jr had never been the kind to respect anything or anyone, since he had always considered himself as been better than the rest of mankind: he was tall, handsome, experienced, street-smart and irresistible to the ladies. He had gained an erudition based on intense movie-watching and he was gifted with the ability to get out of messes with the swiftness of an eel covered with olive oil. So why in the world would he show the littlest amount of consideration for his co-workers, the unique exception to this rule being Leroy Jethro Gibbs? Sure, Tony had to acknowledge Ziva's fighting abilities (otherwise, there would be trouble) and Abby's results at the lab (or else, there would be turmoil) but apart from these two, he had never felt compelled to respect people, not even Leon Vance – NCIS Director or not, the man would always be second to Gibbs in the Senior Agent's ideas of hierarchy.

As for McGee... No, Tony would rather eat dirt than to admit the computer tech's qualities. The only time he had done so had been when he was drugged out of his mind, tied up to a chair and babbling his life-story to a notorious terrorist – but once they had escaped Somalia and went back to DC, Tony had wasted no time demeaning Tim's contributions to Ziva's rescue in order to make sure the NCIS spotlight would be focused on him, Very Special Agent DiNozzo, and only** him**. The very idea of being challenged for anything was intolerable for Tony, who had never grown out of his 'only child' status. For years, he had made sure McGee would remain chained to his desk at the bullpen whereas **he **would do all the hard work out in the field. It had been easy during the first years, with McGee so green he would fall in every trap under Kate's amused eyes and, later, Ziva's. With his accomplishments constantly belittled and his personal life ridiculed, McGee was bound to learn his real place and stay away from Tony's path of glory – or, even better, to ask for a transfer, leaving Team Gibbs in disgrace with the label _"Loser"_ super-glued on his back for the rest of his career.

But alas, the Probie had proved to be more resourceful than expected; not only he had shrugged off Tony's mean pranks, but he had the ultimate gall to become a good agent over the years, dutifully attending workshops and never complaining, not once, about the rough treatment he was receiving from his teammates. McGee's patience and endurance had earned him the consideration of the other NCIS agents and, most importantly, of Director Vance while Tony had lost all credit with the ladies after his lies about Tim's sexual preferences. Even worse, the rumor mill had been buzzing madly for weeks about his demotion and how he had it coming, and that he deserved it for his complete lack of teamwork skills.

Tony had been crushed by the review board's decision and only Gibbs' presence had stopped him from resigning, partly because his mentor would have considered it as a desertion but also because the Senior Agent did not want to appear as 'weak' in front of the other guys at the bullpen. To Tony's eyes, only those who could not hack it resigned and he could not pretend to the title of _"NCIS' finest"_ if he fled the sinking ship like the proverbial rats. So he had gritted his teeth, ignored the glances and snickers, and kept his pretty head low to avoid the fumes of Volcano Vance hovering over his head.

So far, he had succeeded and even his little stunt at MTAC had safely remained under the carpet – even though Tony was still at a loss at finding out who had told on him. The review board's members had mentioned a woman reporting the cause of Ziva's violent outburst at the morgue to her superior, but for the life of him the Senior Agent could not imagine a lady denouncing him. He was a big name in the dating pool and he knew better than to treat a bed partner with nonchalance, since _"__Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned"_ and Tony was quite found of his good looks. So he would always love them and leave them with a rose on the pillow and a kind word before leaving for new prospects. No wonders his address book was filed with women's phone numbers, whereas McLoser was to end up with psychos or thieves!

However, the mention of a "special friend" had raised Tony's attention… and doubled his jealousy. Having a rival for Gibbs' affection was already bad but the thought of McGee finding happiness was simply unbearable. The computer tech had to remain unlucky in love for Tony's ladies' man reputation to shine, and it was not something he was going to let it dimmed without a fight!

"What special friend?" asked the Special Agent venomously as he watched with pleasure an embarrassed blush spreading on McGee's face. Looks like McRambo have not been toughened enough by his stay abroad, after all! "Have you finally decided to sow your wild oats, McRepressed? Well, it's not a moment too soon! Your frightened virgin act was getting pitiful, unworthy of a real federal agent and you were as dopey-looking as Steve Carell in _The Forty-Year Old Virgin_."

"Mind your own business, DiNozzo, and leave us alone!" growled Gibbs. The jealous expression on Tony's face did not suit him at all.

"No can do, Boss. I wanna know what McInhibited has done during his time in Afghanistan, apart from tearing our team apart with his pretentiousness. So, who was that special friend, Probie? Was he a strong, handsome, hung-like-a-horse Marine who has managed to drag you out of the closet? Sounds like I was right about you being gay, in spite of your claims of innocence."

"DiNozzo, for the last time…!"

"Boss, I'd better go before I do some damage," said Tim quietly. He was tired, his heart was hurting and he longed to go home and call Ziva, Ducky and Jimmy, before collapsing into bed with Jet guarding him.

"YOU doing damage? That'll be the day!" laughed Tony. "C'mon, Probie, you can't actually believe that you can make fight against me, I damn well know these muscles are only for show. You're no Sylvester Stallone, you don't have the Eye of the Tiger and besides, I'm still your superior so don't you forget it! Now, tell me, who was the poor guy who had to endure your whines for long months in the desert?"

"I've never said anything about a _guy_, Tony. In fact, there has never been a guy in my life and never will. This male lover exists only in your imagination, whose twisted ideas are relayed by your calumnious mouth."

Tim let out a sigh, as painful memories came to his mind in the form of a Marine Sergeant with a beef against anyone who would refuse to submit to his tyranny, especially a female doctor who had courageously refused his indecent proposals. _Aimee, sweet, beauteous Aimee!_ Tim would never forget the way she had sent Miller to pack up his slimy innuendos and hit the road, kicking him out of the hospital, showing her backbone of steel while the heinous Sergeant had scrambled back to the shadows like the cockroach he truly was, vowing revenge for having been dismissed in favor of a quiet Lieutenant from the Finances Department.

Aimee had been aware that her rejection of Miller's attentions would bring trouble for her and yet, she had refused to let herself being intimidated. His courageous, marvelous darling… And doubtless she would have given Tony a piece of her mind were she still alive. Tim could not let those absurd accusations to remain unanswered, as it would be insulting to Aimee's love. The good ol' days when the Probie would take any of Tony's malice in stride and never say a word were over: Aimee had given Tim wings, and he would not let them being clipped first thing in the morning by an inconsiderate co-worker.

"You see, DiNozzo, you remind me of a particularly odious man I met at ISAF. He was a bully, a blackmailer and, on top of everything, a hypocrite. He had that façade of a good Marine always ready to obey orders but deep down, he despised his superiors, considered the men under his command as cannon fodder and women had better grant him their favors, otherwise the retributions would be severe! He was not against poking into the personal effects of young and inexperienced Marines, humiliate them in public and make a mockery of their personal lives in order to _"toughen weenies up, and give them a lesson in what real men are". _Now, I fail to see how thievery and ridicule have anything to do with training but considering the way you treat probationers, you'd probably agree with his methods, DiNozzo."

"Don't you dare comparing me with… What, you were scared of a nasty piece of work, McCoward? One yelling-his-head-off Marine was enough to make you run for cover like a rabbit? Good grief, talk about making the biggest fuss over the littlest things! I've met some tough guys during the mission in Iraq and they never managed to impress me, not for a second – a mission which was rightly mine and not yours, by the way!"

"Whatever, DiNozzo. The main thing is, the very few Marines who dared to stand up against that odious man found themselves in grave danger, in the lines of being cornered in a shower room for a fate worse than death. He was clever enough to never leave DNA traces or prints, though, so nobody could prove anything so he always got of his criminal acts scot-free."

Gibbs shuddered at those words as he remembered the attack against Tim while he was at ISAF. It had been a close call, indeed, very close and the ex-Gunnery Sergeant regretted not having had the opportunity to rip apart the Sergeant Miller. He would not have stopped until the last bloodied remains would have been burned to the ground!

"This man shared another similarity with you, DiNozzo: he was a great believer in labeling smart men as homosexuals. In fact, he was persuaded that intelligence was inextricably linked to frailty and since a 'real man' cannot be frail, then all eggheads were fatally gay. He based his whole life on this absurd truism and I had barely touched the tarmac of the airport that the odious man was on my case, suspecting me of being gay in spite of discovering my relationship with a woman from ISAF – my "special friend", as Gibbs called her."

"What? Whoa, whoa, hold your horses for a while… Are you trying to make me believe that you actually _scored_ during your time in Afghanistan?" asked an incredulous Tony.

"What's so surprising, DiNozzo? Are you still convinced that you're the only NCIS Agent who is allowed to be lucky, whereas I'm doomed to remain alone for the rest of my days?"

Tony remained silent for a few seconds, and then he busted out laughing. Gibbs stepped forward to give the Senior Agent the head-slap of a lifetime but a hand on his arm restrained him. Surprised, the Team Leader looked at Tim and saw the green eyes hardening like unforgiving emeralds, the young face turning into a mask of cold fury. For the first time, Gibbs caught a glimpse of how much McGee had matured during his stay abroad and he realized it was not in his place, not any longer, to put an end to Tony's taunts. Tim had seen too much, had endured too many things to be defended like a schoolboy against a playground bully – no, the kid wanted to deal with this on his own and he was not going to let anyone stand on his way, not even his Boss the ex-Marine.

"Oh, that's too much!" laughed Tony, nearly falling down his office chair in his mirth. "Probie finally found the nerve to do the horizontal minuet with a girl! The poor lass, I pity her – you probably bore her to death and she kept falling asleep during the act! What in the world had crossed her mind? I mean, she had first choice with all those Marines around and yet, she let a tedious guy like you do his clumsy courting act based on video games and on-line dating. Obviously, the poor girl had stayed under the sun for too long without wearing a hat, and the heat had fried her brains!"

The situation was degenerating from usual slander to verbal attack against a dead woman. From the corner of his eye, Gibbs noted that Tim's hand was hovering above the shirt he was wearing.

"Or maybe she was desperate, huh?" said Tony, his guffaws making place to a cruel snicker. "Yeah, it must be the case, considering your glowing record in the sex department, Probie. She was so desperate that she had to do make do with second best since no guy in his right state of mind would have wanted to have anything with her. What was wrong with your girlfriend, Probie, was she as ugly as the seven deadly sins? Maybe she was an old maid and she got fed up waiting for Prince Charming to lose her cherry – starved for love, she fell for your fake uniform. Then again, maybe she was mentally challenged and unable to make the difference between a real man and a wimp!"

Gibbs had barely the time to comprehend what was happening before something dark flew out of Tim's hand and landed on the office chair with a soft THUD, just between Tony's thighs.

"**HEY! What the Hell…?"**

The Senior Agent's face had blanched at the sight of a mean-looking knife embedded into the cushion of his seat, way too close to his crotch! The blade near his genitals had cut Tony's malevolent grandiloquence like with a scythe and his eyes widened even more as he realized it had been granite-faced McGee who had thrown the knife.

Tony whimpered slightly and his reason, which had been absent from his mind for too long, made a comeback with a vengeance, screaming at him in no uncertain terms that he had been an inconsiderate jerk, an absolute idiot with an attitude unworthy of a Senior Agent and how could he talk like this to his co-worker for more than eight years, someone who had survived one of the worst war zones of the globe while working on an important computer thingie and whatnots and had managed to escape from terrorists on his own, walking his way to freedom through an arid inferno. The DiNozzo reason roared inside its owner's skull like a giant twister, blowing away all the stereotypes, clichés and trite sayings that had encumbered Tony's brains for months, making them understand too late that McGee was no longer the laughing stock of Team Gibbs. Tony mentally kicked himself for having forgotten about Tim's ability to learn; he was not the kind to stay abroad in the company of Marines without learning a trick or two – including knife-throwing, by the looks of it!

McGee walked towards the Senior Agent and it took all of Tony's self-control to avoid flinching in front of the colleague he had so spitefully insulted; but Tim calmly extracted the Dark Dove from the office chair's seat – it had cut a perfect vertical line through the cushion's cloth – before looking at DiNozzo straight in the eyes, blade still in hand, to say:

"Her name was Aimee. She was beautiful, intelligent and courageous. She was killed during the kidnapping, because of the odious man's misdeeds. _Don't you dare insult her memory again!_"

Gibbs had remained agape during the whole incident; Tim… His baby, his youngest, had actually thrown a knife to make Tony stop his taunts? Had his gentle soul been destroyed during his time in Afghanistan? Gibbs had seen it happened too often during his time in the Marines, watching bright-eyed kids disembarking with enthusiasm in a foreign land to flow back home a shell of their former selves, broken beyond repair and embittered by the horrors they had seen. The silver-haired man had lived in fear that the same thing would happen to McGee and he had prayed that his heart would remain intact in spite of the hardships he would encounter in Afghanistan. He had count on Tim's vast intelligence to overcome the feelings of despair that could strike any man who had witnessed combat but the death of his 'special friend', indirectly caused by Gibbs, was still a sore spot for McGee and it would take time before he could speak about it.

And that bonehead DiNozzo had to rub it in simply because he was unable to keep his jealousy under control! Sometimes, the amount of stupidity displayed by the Senior Agent was simply amazing – Gibbs was quite aware Tony had been badly shaken by his demotion but he would never have imagined his eldest son would give such a welcome to Tim, not even in his worst nightmares… Nor would he have imagined McGee literally cutting short a venomous diatribe with a blade.

"McGee…"

"Worry not, Boss, I'm not going to cut your adopted son like I did to the man responsible for Aimee's death."

"Y-You did w-what?" stuttered Tony.

"Never mind, DiNozzo."

At the same moment, a muted "ding" announced the arrival of the elevator at the bullpen's level and Abby stepped out of the cabin, holding a supersized Caf-Pow in one hand and a blueberry muffin in the other. Her eyes widened at the sight that greeted her: McGee, knife in hand, hovering over a statue-like seated Tony while Gibbs was rushing towards the elevator.

Tim inwardly sighed: first Gibbs and Tony, and next Abby. Could this morning get even worse?

"**McGEE! WHAT ON EARTH ARE YOU DOING?" **said the Lab Rat with a glass-shattering scream.

"Go to the Lab, Abby, and stay there!" said Gibbs, grabbing the woman by the arm with the intention of making her step inside the elevator's cabin. The last thing they needed was Vance flying out of his office like a bat from Hell to investigate what all that shouting was about!

"**NO!" **shrieked Abby, freeing her arm from her silver-haired fox's grasp.** "I WANNA KNOW WHAT'S GOING ON! WHY IS McGEE THREATENING TONY WITH A KNIFE, HAVE YOU GONE INSANE?"**

"Abby, go downstairs and keep your voice low!" growled Gibbs between gritted teeth.

"**BUT TONY IS IN DANGER, CAN'T YOU SEE? McGEE IS HOLDING A KNIFE AGAINST HIM! SAVE HIM! SAVE HIM!"**

"Tony has been endangered by his own stupidity but he has recently learned that McGee is not to be pushed around any longer, neither by him, you, me or anybody else for that matter. This knife is a sharp reminder of what McGee has learned in Afghanistan but now he's going to put it back in its sheath, and keep it there. I've already told Ziva that she was not allowed to throw her blades around in the workplace and it goes for McGee, too!"

Tim got the message and made the Dark Dove disappear inside his suit's jacket by a swift movement of his fingers and Tony, while still in shock from his surprising encounter with the weapon, could not help but admire his colleague's dexterity, matching Ziva's. The blade shone briefly before it was tucked back in place and Tim turned around, looking at Gibbs and a furious Abby.

"So, I'm finally heading home. See you around, Boss."

"McGee, wait! We still have to talk about…"

"Yes, we have to talk about **me**!" said Abby, invading Tim's personal space before the Team Leader could stop her. "To be precise, we have to talk to the damages you've done to **my** career, and what you're gonna do about it!"

Tim thought this nightmarish morning would never end: it made it twice he was accused of destroying his colleagues' careers, and it was twice too many.

"What damages?"

"**What damages? How dare you say that? I've had nothing but troubles since you've left!"** shouted Abby, her black braids flying in every direction. "First Vance suspended me unfairly for three months, then your horrible friend Andy turned me over to the cops under false accusations and now that creep Peterson has filed up a complaint against me and **IT'S YOUR ENTIRE FAULT!**"

"And how, pray tell? Water has flown under the bridge since my departure but I clearly remember you making a fool of yourself in the bullpen, prompting Director Vance to call for you in his office. Andy told me all about your attempted dog-napping at Langdon Park and, for your information, he has a digital copy of the photos you've taken while stalking him."

"What?" exclaimed a startled Abby. "But he erased all the photos from the memory card!"

"Yes, well, Andy thought it wouldn't hurt to have an extra insurance so he saved the photos on a USB key," said Tim. "This copy is in safekeeping so it is useless to pressure Gibbs or Tony into burglarizing my friend's home in an attempt to retrieve it – Andy keeps the USB key as guarantee that you will never stalk him again under false pretenses and he gave me a printed copy of the photos, to make me see what you were up to. Frankly, Abby, I'm disappointed in you; I'd never thing you would stoop so low in your so-called crusade to protect Jet. And, last but not the least, I know next to nothing about Peterson filing a complaint about you so you'll have to find somebody else to blame for that."

"Where's Jethro?" asked a rigid Abby through gritted teeth, her hands curled into fists at her sides, the living picture of indignation.

"He's at my place, of course. I collected him from Andy's yesterday evening; besides, it is none of your concern since Jet is my dog, not yours."

"JETHRO'S MINE!" yelled Abby. "HE ALWAYS HAS BEEN MINE AND HE WOULD BE STAYING AT MY PLACE IF IT WEREN'T FOR MY CREEPY LANDLORD!"

"Well, too bad for you but after you've forced me to adopt him, Jet has completely forgotten about you. Andy told me about him recoiling from you but I suppose it's my fault here, too?"

"**Damn right it is! I've entrusted you with the well-being of that poor dog after you shot him in cold blood but you've brainwashed him!"**

"Abby, you're a fool. Jet is an intelligent dog with a profound distaste for overexcited, loudmouthed people showing an erratic behavior. Apparently, it reminds him too much of his former owners, the druggies who scattered their stash all over the flat. Considering your rag-tag appearance at Langdon Park, you must have brought back traumatic memories to that poor, innocent doggie," concluded Tim with a sarcastic half-smile.

"**Why, you…"**

Abby raised her hand to slap McGee right on the face but her gesture was stopped short by Gibb's iron grip on her wrist.

"Abby, have you lost it? You want to hit McGee after all he's been through in Afghanistan?"

"**I couldn't possibly care less about what he went through in Afghanistan or on the planet Mars!"** shot the Lab Rat back. **"He's making a mockery of the troubles he's caused me and I'm not going to let him destroy our team. And he's dangerous: he has a knife!"**

"So does Ziva and yet, you don't feel the need to slap her face!" reminded the Team Leader.

"**He could have wounded Tony!"**

Tony had remained glued to his seat for the whole duration of the altercation but his recently-awakened reason told him to step up and try to salvage the situation. Abby had always considered him as her big brother so it was high time to use of his influence to rein her in; Vance could step out of his office any minute and they would have a hard time explaining a gash in an office chair, an hysterical Forensics scientist and a Team Leader livid with rage, struggling to keep Abby under control while looking ready to head-slap anyone within his reach.

"Look, Abby, calm down. That business with the knife is nothing I haven't deserved in the first place and the only wounded party here is my chair so let's not make a fuss about it, okay? I admit having been a total jerk towards McGee, especially to his girlfriend and…"

"**WHAT?"**

TBC…


	81. A point of question - part 3

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- The third part Tim's return at NCIS. Abby-fans may want to skip this chapter.

_- Factotum_ is from the Latin "_fac totum"_, which means_ "Doing everything"._

- To Friend: oh yes, Tim will exit the NCIS bullpen pretty soon!

- To Guest: there are no other agents at the bullpen for the time being since it is too early in the morning, but as for Vance… watch out!

- To RedDragen: Ziva is coming!

- To None: Abby will do her usual jealous ex-girlfriend act but Tim is no longer impressed by her or her 'favorite' status.

- To Mark Gibbs: Thank you very much! xD

- To Sprouthater: hope this new chapter will meet your expectations!

- To Miu1: I would certainly be shocked if such a scene would happen at my workplace. Abby has gotten off the hook way too many times in the past.

- To Mintley8: Tony's motor-mouth has certainly put him in trouble and he won't get away with only a head-slap!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 80: A point in question – part 3<strong>

"WHAT?"

Abby's indignant exclamation would have been hilarious if the tension reigning in the bullpen had not been thick enough to be cut to ribbons by the Dark Dove. Tony swallowed with difficulty; he did not dare look at Gibbs, not after the spectacular goof he had just committed but the Senior Agent could feel laser-blue eyes boring holes inside his skull, as if it could somehow aerate his brains to prevent him from saying stupid things in the future.

Worst part was, Tony really had not meant to pour oil on the fire; his previous encounter with a mean-looking knife had finally made Tony realize that he had gone too far and he still could not believe he had been callous enough to insult a woman – a Marine killed in the line of duty – out of jealousy towards Tim. Unfortunately, the long gash in his office chair's cushion was a sharp reminder of his misdeed and Tony doubted his Boss would allow him to ask for a new one soon, meaning he would have to work for years to come with the proof of McGee's zero tolerance towards calumny engraved into his chair.

Then, Abby had stepped out of the elevator just in time to witness Tim retrieving his knife from between Tony's thighs and she had started to scream for help, as if McGee had turned into a serial killer during his stay abroad and, even though Tony appreciated the sentiment, it was not the time or place to make a racket with Volcano Vance in the building. Too-loud voices would make the Director to fly out of his upstairs office and he would ask some embarrassing questions!

So, in order to placate the Lab Rat, the Senior Agent had tried to minimize the knife incident but he had only managed to make matters worse by mentioning Probie's girlfriend in passing and it had not be a very smart move, considering Abby's possessiveness and her steadfast refusal to admit Tim had stopped being her lover years ago, after she had broken his heart.

"Er, I meant..."

"DiNozzo, shut your mouth before I shut it for you," growled Gibbs, his phalanxes whitening under the pressure. "Abby, go to your lab if you want to keep your job. McGee, it would be better for you to go home and stay there while I clean up this mess."

"Go to my lab? Who in the Hell do you think I am, a nice little doggie _à la_ McGee?" shot Abby back. "I go to my lab when **I** feel like it and right now, I'm not going anywhere. I demand an explanation. I have the right for an explanation. I have every right to an explanation and I want it **now**!"

"Tough, because you're not going to have it," said Tim while repressing a yawn. The recent events had taken a toll on him and Abby's behavior was getting tiresome. "See you soon, Boss."

"Oh no you don't, Mister!" exclaimed a furious Abby as she placed herself between McGee and the elevator, blocking the path to freedom. "You're not going to get away with it so easily. Who's the girlfriend Tony is talking about?"

Tim's eyes hardened again and Gibbs felt a pang of fear in his heart. The last time he had seen his youngest son looking so resolute, a blade had nearly emasculated Tony!

"Drop it, Abby and get out of the way! Can't you leave the man alone?" asked the silver-haired man. He tried to grab Abby's arm but she batted his hand away.

"Leave him alone, after all he's done to **me**? Not a chance! McGee's owes me a mega-apology for everything he's done to my career."

"I have done nothing to damage your career, Abby," replied Tim calmly but firmly. "In fact, it would have remained intact if it hadn't been for your Drama Queen act in the bullpen and stalking my friend Andy at the park. Actions have consequences and it's high time you've learned this truism, instead of running to Gibbs whenever something vexes you."

"Of all the revolting nerve! I wouldn't have been in trouble if you hadn't decided to leave in the first place! That's _desertion_, Mister, and Gibbs isn't going to forgive you anytime soon for that – my career at NCIS may have hit a snag but yours is a goner."

"That's the sign you haven't opened a dictionary for quite a while, Abby. _"Desertion"_ comes from the verb _"To desert" _which means: _"to abandon (a military post, for example) in violation of orders or an oath"_. My mission has been approved both by Director Vance and the Head of ISAF in Kabul; only after the necessary paperwork had been filled and stamped on did I warned my colleagues about leaving for a secret mission. Of course, one may argue that I should have warned them earlier but, considering the complete lack of respect said colleagues show upon my work and my person, it was better to keep the secret until the last minute to avoid the maximum of protests, sarcasms and sabotage attempts. And it was a damn good thing, too, considering the outmaneuvering tendencies displayed by some of my teammates."

Tony had the good grace to look embarrassed.

"Therefore, your accusations of desertion make you look utterly ridiculous, Abby. In case it isn't clear enough for you, I have followed Vance's direct orders and he's our commanding officer; he's way above Gibbs_**who, contrary to what you are persuaded of, isn't God**_. And you'd better keep your voice down: the Director's in his office and it's too early in the morning for him to be patient towards your usual rants and raves. This being said, please get out of my way. I'm tired, I have a lot to think about and I long to go home."

"Go home, yes, and flee since you are a spineless jerk. Tony was right to call you McCoward!"

"ABBY! How dare you say that to McGee!" exclaimed a shocked Gibbs. "The man went through Hell to complete his mission."

"That's nothing compared to all the wrongs he's done - and don't forget he has betrayed me!"

Tim turned his unforgiving eyes towards Abby: "I've **betrayed **you? And how, pray tell?"

"Tony said you had a girlfriend in Afghanistan! As soon as you left the US, you fooled around with some slut! **YOU BACKSTABBING, UNFAITHFUL SLUG! YOU DISGUST ME, TIMOTHY McGEE!**"

"Likewise, Abigail Sciuto."

Abby remained silent for a few seconds; her expression made her resemble to a cartoon character thinking _"I-cannot-believe-my-eyes-and-ears_" inside a bubble-shaped phylactery. Gibbs was torn between concern and anger: Tim had every right to be crossed at Abby, considering the torrent of stupidity pouring from out of her mouth but the Lab Rat's status of 'favorite' was so deeply rooted in the ex-Marine's heart that his reflex reaction was always to run at her rescue, regardless of how outrageous her behavior was. Tony kept his lips sealed; after his slip of the tongue, it was better to stay on the safe side and let the geek and the Goth settled their accounts between themselves – while silently praying it would not last for too long; Vance could come out of his office right now!

"W-What did you say?" stuttered Abby.

"You've heard me perfectly well, Sciuto. **You. Repel. Me.** And the only regret I have is having wasted so many years believing in your fake friendship."

"But… But…"

"McGee…" started to say Gibbs, but the young man paid him no heed.

"You've been nothing but a bother and a nuisance since the day I've met you at the university, Sciuto," said Tim. "And guess what? I grew tired of your whims, you manipulating me as if I were a marionette on strings and the way you hide behind Gibbs whenever things get too hot to handle. You've told me twice that you and I had no future together since you're too scared of commitment, and twice you broke my heart – but who cares about this negligible detail, eh? It's only McGee we're talking about. The disregarded, the Jester, the worm – the one the Big Boys use as a urinal!"

"McGEE!" exclaimed Gibbs.

"And then, you granted me the title of _"Best friend"_ not because you care about me, but simply because you thought I'd forever remain your devoted fan, conveniently reachable 24/7 when you're in trouble. Your toilets need to be unclogged? Call Timmy in the middle of the night! Need a chauffeur to take you to a rock concert at the other side of town? Never mind, McGee is available – even when he's not. After all, he's never doing anything important so he can wait for hours in his car for the concert to end! Need cash, after you've spent all your salary in ugly Goth clothes? No problem, the geek will loan you some – he's loaded, after all, especially after that 'horrid' series of books he has written. It's so easy to get whatever you want from McGee: first bat your eyelids at him and play with his heart; if it doesn't work, threaten him of retaliation from Gibbs, from sacking to dismemberment!"

Tim's voice had a hard, metallic tone and Gibbs thought for a moment that they would have another demonstration of knife-throwing pretty soon, but then he discarded this idea as absurd. Regardless of how angry Tim was towards Abby, he would never strike at a woman, not even if his own life was at stake. But how in the world could he put an end to this explosive situation? So far, Tim and Abby had remained deaf to his orders and Tony seemed to have melted in the background; it was quite an unusual situation for the silver-haired man: regardless of the circumstances, his 'kids' had always obeyed him. However, Abby was too furious to listen to reason and Tim… He had been through too much to let himself being impressed but the fury of his capricious ex-lover.

"Well, sorry to disappoint you, Sciuto, but I've learned a lot during his stay abroad. Most importantly, I learned that I wasn't doomed to remain your unlucky lapdog for the rest of my life. There are far better women in the world than you – good, reliable, intelligent women and I've met one of them at ISAF. She was beautiful, courageous as a lioness and with a _"take-no-crap"_ attitude. We became inseparable; we fell in love. She gave me her heart and I treasured it while she protected mine as well. She never asked me to fight her battles in her stead; she didn't exploit my sentiments for her own gain; she embraced responsibilities instead of blaming others for her mistakes; and, last but not the least, she was sincere. In short, she was the complete opposite of you so there's no wonder why I loved her!"

Abby was livid with rage; not only McGee was an unfaithful jerk but he dared to praise his girlfriend, just to taunt her! How could such a thing have happened? How could a woman ever be attracted to McGee, after all she had done to prevent it? Abby had been so frightened by the thought her ex-lover would look elsewhere that she had destroyed Tim's self-esteem by dumped him twice, making not-exactly-praising comments about his performances in bed and by stating that he should not bother about having a personal life since he was a hopeless case – all this to keep McGee at her beck and call, since it was his rightful place in life. Abby had been greatly helped in this task by Tony, who never missed an occasion to make a mockery of Tim's failed attempts at courting – conveniently omitting his own lousy experiences, the worst having dated Dr. Jeanne Benoît, daughter of René Benoît a.k.a. "La Grenouille" (The Frog), a notorious French arms dealer sought by the US government and late Director of NCIS Jenny Sheppard.

Between Tony's slurs and Abby's manipulations, McGee had become persuaded he would remain unlucky in love for the rest of his life and was destined to be his betters' servant – which suited Abby just fine. She was free to have sex with other men meeting her tastes (heavily involved in the Punk/Goth/Rock music, very funny when inebriated and vigorous in bed) while Tim would remain her chauffeur/factotum/interest-free loaner/fall guy, a convenient and mute lackey. It had sure saved her from some tight spots and she had remained blameless for her actions, at least to Gibbs' eyes and it was all that mattered. But for her great schemes to work, McGee had to remain single, unloved and desperate, a supine man eager to jump on every occasion to prove his worth to the official NCIS' Queen of Forensic Sciences.

And now, he was saying that he had found a better woman than her! The more he talked, the more Abby hated the witch from Afghanistan. She had no right to take McGee away from her! He and Jethro were her property! Sure, Abby could not keep them both at her flat as it would be too obvious but she had Tim on an invisible leash, just like the dog had to wear a real one when he was on a walk. McGee could not leave her; he had to remain in awe to her superiority; he had to be her constant admirer, jumping through hoops just to please her. The Afghanistan witch had to be erased from Tim's memory, and that was final!

Abby started to snicker disdainfully: "Beautiful, sincere, courageous as a lioness? Who are you trying to kid? That woman used you just to have some fun for free and she would have dumped you on the spot if you hadn't come back to the US in the first place. It's time to wake up and smell the coffee, McGee! There will always be only one woman in your life and it's **me**, do you hear?"

"Right. A woman who would not give me the time of day should be the only love interest in my life. How logical!"

"You great big oaf! I'm trying to protect you, can't you see? You're hopeless with women and you'll only manage to get yourself killed, or Tony and Ziva, with your lousy attempts at flirting. At least, with me, you won't hurt our team because **I** won't let you do stupid things! You're incapable to discern a real woman from a psychopath; heck, you can't even write a book without putting me in mortal danger! The only time you are not making a mess is when you stay put at the bullpen and work on the computers, why can't you accept this simple fact?"

"Why can't you accept that you have no control over me any longer, Sciuto?"

"**BASTARD!"** screamed Abby, raising her fist to punch the young man square on the face.

Gibbs sprung into action to stop her but McGee moved faster than lightning and dodged the punch, causing the Lab Rat to lose her balance and only a desperate grasp at a nearby desk stopped her from falling head-first on the bullpen's floor. Red-faced with anger and humiliation, Abby snarled:

"You're not worth the saliva I use to speak to you, McGee."

Tim sighed at this manifestation of meanness, and then he grabbed a stunned Abby as if she were a cumbering piece of furniture, lifted her a foot in the air before dropping her close to Gibbs, causing her platform boots to slam on the floor, all this in an effort to get her out of the way to the elevator. The doors had closed during the heated conversation and someone had summoned the cabin from the ground floor, considering the flashing numbers above the doors' frame. With a bit of luck, the person riding the elevator would stop at the bullpen's level and Tim would have the opportunity to leave his workplace and his unpleasant teammates for a much-needed rest at his flat.

Meanwhile, Abby, Gibbs and Tony were staring at McGee with wide eyes. He had ousted the Lab Rat as effortlessly as if she were a chair! Tony could not help but think that Probie had indeed developed some muscle in Afghanistan and it would be wise to keep his waddling tongue under control; Gibbs had a hard time to believe his youngest would actually make his point by removing a stiff-as-a-board-from-indignation Abby out of his way, in a move worthy of the burlesque comedies Tony loved so much! As for the Goth woman, she was absolutely floored that Tim had dared to treat her so unceremoniously.

"**GIBBS! **McGee has manhandled me!** Arrest him!"**

"Oh, Abby, can't you give the man a break? He didn't manhandle you; he simply removed you from his way out!"

"**He hurt me! My feet are hurting from the impact after he has dropped me like a sack of potatoes! This is assault and battery!"**

"Abby, shut up! Your feet cannot hurt with those ten-inch-thick soles you're wearing. Your boots are stronger than an astronaut's, for God's sakes!"

"You witnessed the whole thing!" said Abby to both Gibbs and the still-seated Senior Agent. "I want your statements before filling up a complaint to Director Vance!"

"Not from me, you won't!" shot Tony back.

"Abby, Tony's right. You're not going to complain to Vance about McGee, as you are in enough trouble already and it's not the time to make waves. Besides, your behavior has been completely out of line; McGee has been absent for months and the only words of welcome you have for him are accusations, insults and disparagement, before preventing him from leaving the building? What in the world is wrong with you?"

"I have every right to stop McGee from leaving as he owes an explanation to me, to us, to all of us! But he refused and then he attacked me, so I have solid grounds to file up a complaint against him."

"McGee didn't _attack_ you, so stop exaggerating. As I recall, you're the one who has tried to strike him, earlier!"

"He deserved it!"

"No, he didn't! And he also has solid grounds to complain about you so you'd better stop your foolishness at once."

"What? McGee doesn't have the right to do so!"

"Here we go again," grumbled Tony between his teeth.

"Goddammit, Abby, when will you stop making things more difficult than they already are? Being at each other's throats is not going to put us back in Vance's good books. You really act as if you won't stop before everyone's career at NCIS is destroyed!"

"But, Gibbs! You don't understand; Peterson's complaint will be examined now that McGee's back!" said a panicky Lab Rat, her eyes shining with unshed tears as she revealed her real motives. "Peterson won't withdraw since you've failed 'persuading' him to do so but I have to stop the procedure to keep my job. If I fill up a complaint too, Vance will have to grant me the benefit of the doubt as I'll tell him I've been gravely distraught by McGee's departure and them him having turned into a brute while abroad and…"

"In other words, you plan to put the blame of your actions on me, in order to save your own skin. Glad to see some things never change," said Tim before turning towards the elevator after hearing the soft 'ding' announcing the cabin's arrival.

The doors opened to reveal Special Agent Ziva David, looking gorgeous with her braided black hair, tanned face and shining dark eyes; she was wearing jeans and a brown leather jacket over a checkered shirt and her backpack was slung over her shoulder. Jealousy invaded Tony's heart once again at the thought the lovely woman had spent many months in the company of McGee while thousands of miles had separated her from the only _**real**_ agent of Team Gibbs.

"Tim!" exclaimed the ex-Mossad, genuinely happy but also puzzled at the sight of her special man within the NCIS building. "Isn't it too early for you to go back to work?"

"Hello, Ziva," said McGee with a small smile. He wished circumstances were better to greet the woman he owed so much but Tony's calumnies followed by Abby's accusations had truly tired him. "Don't worry; I'm on my way home."

"What, already? It's not even seven o'clock yet!"

"I've lingered her for too long, actually. I debriefed Director Vance about my mission at 6:00 and, at the end of our meeting, he ordered me to go on vacation and attend sessions with Dr. Turner to make sure I am not suffering from PTSD or from… grief. I was leaving the premises when I ran into Gibbs and Tony, and then Abby arrived a moment later."

Ziva glanced at her Boss and her co-workers and, from the looks of it, Tim's return had not been smooth sailing, considering Abby's harpy face coupled with "_little Goth girl lost"_ eyes; a suspicious gash was adorning Tony's chair cushion and the Senior Agent seemed uncomfortable under the ninja girl's scrutiny, probably remembering a certain lie at the MTAC room; as for Gibbs, his expression was downright murderous, causing Ziva's eyes to narrow slightly. She was respectful of hierarchy but when it came to Tim, she was ready to protect him from any potential threats, including the ones that could emanate from her Boss.

"Hmmm… And then?"

"Please don't ask," said Tim with a sigh. "Right now, I just want to go home."

"Do you want a lift? I can drive you to your place."

"Thanks, Zee, but I've got it covered: my car is in the parking lot."

"McGee!" called Gibbs out loud. "I've told you we needed to talk."

Tim turned around and, fixing his emeralds into Gibbs' sapphires, said in a calm but firm tone:

"There has been enough talk already, Boss. Right now, I wanna sleep as I'm in no shape to listen to anything. Besides, Abby requires your full attention since her latest screaming-mad number has probably damaged her vocal cords so I believe a trip to the nearest fast-food is in order, to provide her with a super-sized _Caf-Pow_ that will keep quiet for the record time of three minutes. And there's the matter of your surrogate son, as well: he's probably traumatized by his close encounter with a certain weapon so he needs you to boost his overconfidence to the stratosphere, now that it has been established he will remain the only guy in Team Gibbs."

"What?" whispered Ziva.

"**You think you're so smart, heh, McGee?" **shouted Abby. "**One mission abroad and suddenly you're the big man on the campus, thinking you're too good for us? You wouldn't have gone very far if it hadn't been for us watching your back for years! You owe the Boss-man everything so you'd better show him respect. I've taught you a thing or two about being a man; you owe Tony for all the training he's given you! And…"**

"**OI!"** shouted a furious voice from above.

Five pairs of eyes turned upwards to see their Director standing at the top of the stairs, a toothpick at the corner of his mouth and his arms crossed over his chest, as he was looking at the members of Team Gibbs with a severe frown on his face.

"How do you expect me to talk on the phone with the President of the United States with all that shouting going on?" asked Vance.

TBC…


	82. A point of question - part 4

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

**To my dear readers and reviewers:** due to an upcoming vacation, I have to put this story on 'hold' and new chapters will hopefully be posted around August 23rd. I wish you a very nice summer and I thank you all for the tremendous amount of support you've showed to this story for months. Enjoy the sunshine, freedom and fun of the hottest months of the year! Ice cream for everybody!

- Mount Vesuvius is a strato-volcano located in the Gulf of Naples, Italy. One of its most famous eruptions happened on August 25, 79 AD and claimed the life of more than 16,000 persons, one of them being Roman naturalist Pliny the Elder (AD 23 – August 25, 79 AD).

_- Déjà vu_, from the French words _"Already seen"_, is the phenomenon of having the strong sensation that an event or experience currently being experienced has been experienced in the past, whether it has actually happened or not (from Wikipedia).

_- The Thinker_ is a bronze sculpture by French sculptor Auguste Rodin (1840-1917).

- To Reddragen: I hope you will like the events unfolding in this new chapter!

- To Mr. Review: here's a cyber-cookie to complete your cyber-popcorn!

- To Guest: don't worry, Vance will ask Sam for a glimpse of the bullpen's surveillance cameras.

- To LamoDa: thaaaaaaank yooouuu! XD

- To Donthaveaccount: I'm sorry you had a co-worker similar to Abby. It mustn't have been fun for you!

- To MarkyV: I haven't ruled out that Ziva may express her annoyance towards Abby in a physical way.

- To None: actually, Abby will make another major goof, leaving Vance no other choices than to take drastic actions.

- To Mark Gibbs: thank you for your review! Tim did not felt the need to be forceful towards Abby and Tony as he had matured greatly during his stay abroad, and could not be interested in wasting time with overgrown spoiled kids.

- To McGiva: the McGiva will increase in the next chapters! ;o)

- To Miu1: The President has been spared of Abby's yelling, thanks goodness!

- To Mintley8: the eruption of Volcano Vance will be delayed… for a while :oP

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 81: A point of question – part 4<strong>

A silence fell upon the members of Team Gibbs as they all stared at their angry Director, who was looking down at them while munching with a vengeance at the toothpick in his mouth. For the outside observer, Vance looked like he would explode any second, spreading fire and death in a perfect imitation of Mount Vesuvius' eruption of 79 AD, leading to the destruction of the Roman cities of Pompeii and Herculaneum, a traumatic event still present in people's minds.

Gibbs clenched his jaw in a reflex action, getting ready to defend his 'kids' at all costs, as usual; a confrontation with his superior was not what he had in mind this morning, but Tim's miraculous appearance at the bullpen had prompted the ex-Marine to throw caution to the winds and embrace his youngest before apologizing – yes, _apologizing, _Rule no. 6 be damned – for his foolish and terrible decision to call Butler. Alas, Tony had chosen the same moment to open his oversized mouth and the potentially reunion of reconciliation had been replaced by insults, disdain and a demonstration of knife-throwing prowess. Then, Abby had come to work early – perfect timing! – and the invective game had increased even more, especially with the Goth woman screaming like a maddened banshee over imagined indignities. Fed up with her accusations, Tim had removed Abby from his way just before Ziva had arrived at the office; doubtless the arrival of the deadly Mossad officer would have raised another round of heated arguments, reaching the level of _"ear-piercing"_ if it had not been for Vance's expressing his discontentment about unwanted noise disturbing his phone call with the Commander-in-Chief of the US armed forces.

Tim inwardly sighed: Vance on the mezzanine did not bore anything good. The Director was notorious for stepping out of his office when he was REALLY annoyed and it usually spelt the doom of the guilty party. The situation was increasing his tiredness and he briefly scolded himself for having wasted so much time with Tony; as soon as the "McSomething" nicknames had started, Tim should have grabbed the Dark Dove to vandalize the Senior Agent's office chair on the spot, cutting short what Tony wrongly though was humor whereas it was meanness, plain and simple. Then, he would have left Gibbs and his adopted son standing there before taking off, heading towards his car, his home and his bed – also, it would have avoided him a tedious encounter with Abby. On the other hand, Tim would have missed Ziva and her luminous presence made up for all the stupidities he had to listen from his soon-to-be ex-colleagues. The lovely woman's friendship was a real balm to McGee's wounded heart and he had thought of her often since he had landed on the United States.

Abby, for her part, was very close to tell the Director to go back to his office where he belonged. Vance had been disturbed during his phone conversation with the President of the United States by their shouting match? Big deal! A call from the President was **nothing** compared to the terrible things McGee had done to her! Abby was living under the constant threat of disciplinary actions caused both by McGee's treason and Peterson's complaint. After Gibbs had told her that he would not be able to let her off the hook, she had been trying to prove her worth by every means possible: she had kept the lab depressingly professional, resisting the urge to pin her latest Goth music concert's poster on the walls or to put Bert the stuffed hippo back to his rightful place. She had been arriving early at the office so she could not be accused of laziness, even if the long hours had been tiring, especially without extra hands to help her but none of the other lab techs had wanted to work with her. Abby's boyfriends had been aloof towards her those past months after they realized the free food, drinks and sex were cancelled but money was so tight, she could hardly be the life of the party any more.

And now that McGee was finally back, she had been thwarted twice in her plans to make him crawl like the disobedient dog he was, once by Gibbs – of all people! – and once by Director Vance. This was a conspiracy!

Tony gulped nervously at the sight of Volcano Vance towering the bullpen; this time, they were in for it! The Senior Agent was quite aware his job had been on the line ever since McRambo had left DC for this mission involving the computer-whatever he had built. Then Tony had to endure the review board members' judgment, Ziva's wrath, the other NCIS agents' snickers learning about his demotion and Gibbs dumping him like a pile of dirty laundry to rush to McDelusions' aid in Afghanistan. It had been a series of hard blows to Tony's pride and the mere sight of his colleague in the bullpen had been enough for the Senior Agent to mercilessly insult Tim – just before a dark knife had landed next to his crotch.

In an effort to save his skin, Tony had tried to make amends by calming down a furious Abby, but he had just managed to make matters worse. All in one, Gibbs hated his guts and so did McGee, Ziva, all the NCIS agents, the unknown whistleblower who had denounced him, Ducky, the Autopsy Gremlin, Sam Elliott and, if the situation was not remedied soon, even Vance, for not being able to rein in his teammates. Tony knew he should intervene but his brains were clouded by a disturbing thought: the matter of a certain ninja girl having stayed with McFirebrand for too long…

Ziva frowned at the sight of the fuming Director glaring at her teammates gathered near the elevator; she had received an e-mail from Pam on Friday, who had told her that Vance was expecting her in his office at 7:00 a.m. sharp on Monday morning to _"discuss a few matters"_, meaning she would be read the act riot (or was it the other way around?) about her leaving for Afghanistan without the Director's approval. Ziva knew what was awaiting her and she was ready to face it, but she had not expected her colleagues to regroup around the elevator – apart from Tony, who had remained seated at his desk. The whole scene had surprised Ziva for a few seconds but she quickly realized that there was more than met the eye: Tim looked pretty tired and had remained evasive about his colleagues' "welcome back"; Gibbs was obviously torn between wanting to talk to McGee and restraining Abby at the same time. Tony seemed to be glued to his damaged office chair but there was a jealous expression on his face that she did not like at all – the Senior Agent had worn the same look during the time she had dated Ray and she had been close, many times, to punch Tony's nose _**hard**_ in order to make him understand, once and for all, that there were some things that were none of his business, Senior Agent or not!

This sight made Ziva's heart beat louder inside her chest; could Tony have somehow guessed her love towards Tim? Had there been a fight between Abby and Tim, and Gibbs had to interfere, prompting Vance to ask what was going on? If it was the case, then Ziva would not deny her feelings, never mind if Abby would take offence. She had almost lost Tim thanks to Miller's scheming, so she won't let the Rat Lab to stand on her way!

But Ziva's train of thoughts was cut short by Vance, as the Director asked again:

"So, will one of you tell me exactly what happened in my agency while I was busy talking to the current tenant of the White House?"

Tim decided to step up and defuse the situation; even though his stay at ISAF had cured him of feeling guilty for responsibilities that were not his in the first place – Tony acting like a jackass, for instance, or Abby being unable to keep her selfishness under control – he reckoned a few words would salvage everyone's pride, with the added bonus that a calmer Director would show more leniency to Ziva. Tim owed the ex-Mossad a huge debt and he would do anything in his power to protect her from the lava, ash and volcanic bombs produced by Volcano Vance at the paroxysm of his world-famous eruptions.

"Nothing happened, Sir," said Tim in a placating tone.

"Nothing?" repeated a doubtful Director, raising one eyebrow.

"I meant it was nothing important."

Tony started to breathe a little bit more easily, so did Gibbs and Ziva but Abby felt her fury increasing by the hundred. Nothing important? _**She was nothing important?**_ Of all of the goddamned nerve! She opened her mouth to launch a flood of protests and only Gibbs' discreet grip on her arm prevented her from causing another scandal.

Vance was not fooled, though. He had heard perfectly clearly Abby's latest rants about McGee's owing Gibbs, DiNozzo and herself everything and the Director could not disagree more on this point. Quite the contrary, he estimated Team Gibbs owed the kid more than he could say, from finding clues on a computer in a blink of an eye to making his colleagues realize there was more to life than bullying and boasting. But Vance also understood why McGee wanted to minimize the incident: not only it was not in the kid's nature to rat on his colleagues, no matter how odious they were, but he probably felt the need to leave his soon-to-be former colleagues in the best terms possible, giving the circumstances of his departure.

"Really, Agent McGee?"

"Yes, Director Vance."

"In that case, I suppose you will stop wasting time hanging around the bullpen and start obeying my direct orders, which were for you to go home and get some rest if my memory serves well?"

"Quite so, Sir," said Tim with a half-smile.

"And how about you, Agent Gibbs? Will you grace us with a demonstration of your unwavering authority by leading your subordinates to their respective desks to get some work done in here?"

"Sir," growled the silver-haired man between his teeth, not appreciating the backhanded compliment.

"And I suppose Agent David will soon remember that she's overdue for a lecture in my office?"

"I thought we were going to have a conversation, Sir. Why should you give a conference in your office?"

The misunderstanding actually made the male members of Team Gibbs smile and Vance had a hard time to keep a straight face – however, the rolling of the toothpick from one corner of his mouth to another was a dead giveaway of the Director's hidden mirth. However, Abby was squirming under Gibbs' grip and it would be a matter of seconds before she would loudly claim being brutalized again. Her struggling made Gibbs secure his hold even more and he inwardly prayed Abby's brain cells would finally kick in and make her stop her puerile behavior. Finally, Vance took out the toothpick from his mouth and said:

"I shall explain to you what the word _"lecture"_ actually means, Agent David. In the meantime, I'm expecting you in my office in less than a minute."

The Director turned around and walked in the direction of his private space, leaving a very relieved handful of federal agents behind him. Ziva smiled at Tim, who in turn grabbed her fingers and squeezed them in a reassuring gesture, to give her the strength to face the Director's wrath. The contact of his hand in hers almost made Ziva jump in joy but she managed to keep her emotions under control, thank to the undercover training she had followed at Mossad for years. She gazed into McGee's emeralds, who in turn felt troubled by the woman's shining jet-black eyes, and then Ziva released his hand to walk with a firm gait towards the stairs, a courageous soldier headed for a perilous mission.

The silent exchange had been observed by Tony, who bitterly thought: _"What the Hell is Ninja Girl playing at? Is she actually flirting with McLame, or is she trying to make me feel jealous? Either ways, I'm gonna get the bottom of this and soon!"_

Gibbs had also noticed Tim and Ziva briefly squeezing hands and he gave a silent prayer of thanks that Abby had remained oblivious of the whole thing; his favorite being too busy trying to get free from his grip that she would not have noticed if a pink elephant with green stars on the posterior had suddenly appeared in the bullpen. Only when Ziva was out of sight and the slam of Vance's office door was heard did he released his favorite with a stern look on his face.

"Gibbs! You've hurt me!" said Abby in the whiniest tone ever, rubbing at her arm with the greatest exaggeration.

"Stop that foolishness, Abby, and count yourself lucky Vance didn't fire you for having screamed your head off like a lunatic on drugs! Now go to your lab and don't argue, unless you want me to give you an earful about manners."

Abby's lower lip started to tremble and, right on cue, big tears escaped from her eyes: "GIBBS! How can you talk to me like this, aren't you my silver-haired fox? You've sworn to protect me forever and now you're manhandling me, what kind of a brute are you? I can hardly recognize you! Did McGee turn you against me? Has he brainwashed you, like he did to Jethro and Director Vance and all the others?"

"Wha – What on Earth are you talking about, Abby?" asked the Team Leader. "Where does this brainwashing nonsense come from?"

"That's the only logical explanation!" said the Lab Rat as the tears dramatically ran down her cheeks. "Before he left for Afghanistan, McGee knew his proper place within our team – behind his computer or serve at the lab, but his quiet and obedient act was just a sham. In fact, he was planning to brainwash all of us so we'd do his biddings, and he started with Jethro. He turned that beautiful dog into a scared mop, unable to make the difference between friend and foe; Jethro recoils from **me**, for God's sakes, the woman who has saved him from a monstrous fate! So what this is, if not brainwashing? Vance is the same; he has never raised his voice against me and then all of a sudden, I am suspended, wrongly blamed and ridiculed. And then Peterson suddenly grows a spine and fill up a complaint against me, Jimmy dares to tell me off after the accident with Ducky, and now you…"

"All right, that's quite enough of your **gobbledygook**, Abby. McGee doesn't have a mean bone in his body and he wouldn't brainwash anyone, not even if his life was on the line so stop wasting my time with ridiculous stories that wouldn't even be used in the making of those cheap B-movies Tony loves so much."

"But, Gibbs!"

"Abby, for the last time, GO TO YOUR LAB!" thundered the ex-Marine, leaving no place for arguments.

The Goth woman looked at her protector with wide, incredulous watery eyes, and then she let out a strangled sob and ran towards the staircase leading to the Forensic Department's level. Alarmed by her tears, Tony made a movement to run after Abby but a stern look from Gibbs made him freeze on the spot, and then he sank back into his damaged office chair after having casted a dark look in the general direction of McGee, who merely shrugged. He had not been impressed by Tony's glares (a pitiful imitation of Gibbs') for a long time but the Senior Agent had been too full of himself to notice.

"McGee, I deeply regret the welcome you have just received from your teammates," said Gibbs.

"Don't be, Boss. It was just what I expected, therefore I'm not disappointed."

"McGee…"

"I have to go home, Boss. Vance's orders," said Tim as he pressed a button on the elevator's control panel.

"Tim, please, let me explain…"

At those words, a feeling of _déjà vu_ seized Tim as he remembered his long walk in the Afghani desert after his escape, been forced to stab a wild dog in self-defense before drinking his blood to quench his thirst, and the hallucinations plaguing him as he painfully made his way to Kabul. He remembered having been mocked by a Tony-ghost, scolded by an Abby-image for having killed the dog, and how he had heard an illusionary Gibbs' attempts at explaining. The mirage had uttered the same words but Tim had refused to listen, certain it had been nothing but a lie, a cruel trick of the mind caused by his wounds, the lack of drinkable water and the shock of having watched his friends being gunned down by terrorists.

_Aimee…_

The souvenir of his beloved dying in front of his eyes, torn to pieces by the chaotic violence revived Tim's anger towards Gibbs; his green eyes shining in fury, he shouted right in the Team Leader's face:

"A sign of weakness, my ass!"

Gibbs paled at the young man's wrath; Tony remained gob-smacked on his seat. Then, the elevator's doors opened and McGee stepped inside and pressed the button for the underground parking's level without a backward glance for the silver-haired man. The metallic doors shut and Tim disappeared from sight, leaving behind a devastated Team Leader and a silent Senior Agent.

* * *

><p><em>Meanwhile, at the NCIS lab…<em>

Abby was shaking from head to toes with rage, unable to wrap her mind around what had just transpired at the bullpen. McGee back at NCIS; his steadfast refusal to apologize for all what he had done; his boasting about having had a girlfriend while abroad; her rightful anger being stopped by Gibbs; Tony refusing to back her up; Ziva's arrival, followed by Vance's intervention; McGee daring to say that she was _**nothing important**_!

_Nothing important? I'll show you who's not important, you traitor!_

And Gibbs… God, he had actually raised a hand against her! Even if there were no bruises on her arm, Abby had been shocked to the core of her being by the ex-Marine's actions. He had taken McGee's side and she was certain this mere fact was another proof of brainwashing, regardless of how absurd this theory could be for an outside observer.

_Absurd? It was not absurd! She was a brilliant scientist and she would prove her theory in an irrefutable way!_

And yet, Abby knew there would be no room for mistakes; she was already under scrutiny from her suspension and Peterson's complaint, so she would have to conduct her investigation and keep a low profile at the same time – a very stressful situation but she did not have a choice. She was resolute in saving her job by any means available and, since playing the abused victim had not be a success, she had to change her strategy. The best way to restore her image was to prove that McGee had turned Vance, Gibbs, Peterson and the others against her by using some kind of diabolical mean of influence.

_Could McGee have used some kind of drugs on his victims? It was a possibility, since he had a good scientific knowledge – sometimes even better than hers, which was infuriating. But creating a drug required specific equipment and chemicals; even if McGee was rich enough to buy the goods, thanks to those horrible books describing her as an unreliable crybaby, he could hardly install a laboratory in his flat without raising his neighbors' suspicions, not to mention their complaining about the smell!_

Okay, so drugs were out.

_Could McGee have used hypnotism techniques? He was smart enough to master them but, contrary to popular beliefs and the mythology based on comic books and movies, hypnotism was not an infallible way to control other people's minds and influence them. Besides, Gibbs could not be influenced by hypnotism or anything else; he was far too pig-headed for that!_

Hypnotism was ruled out as well.

Threats, maybe?

_Gibbs, frightened by threats? That'll be the day!_

Blackmail, then?

_Same here. Gibbs would rather eat dirt than submit to this form of pressure._

How about bribery?

_Ah! That kind of influence could work on that creep Peterson, or even Jimmy the Gremlin since he was getting married and this kind of ceremony cost an arm and a leg, but certainly not on Gibbs or Vance. Gibbs had no use for money and Vance was a straight arrow, as painful as it was to admit it._

So, what could McGee have used to turn her silver-haired fox against her?

Abby sat down on a stool and think hard about it for five minutes, disregarding her need for a super-sized _Caf-Pow_ with lots of ice cubes in it. Anyone entering the lab at this exact time would have though the Goth woman was trying to imitate the sculpture _The Thinker_ but without much success, since her furious eyes and incessant banging of her feet against the stool's metallic legs betrayed her nervousness. And then she suddenly got up as an idea illuminated her mind, making her see 'clearly' for the first time in months.

_Of course! The thingie McGee has left the US for! It must be some kind of a computer program, since McGee's an expert in this, and it must be designed to influence people, probably via a webcam!_

Abby would have congratulated herself by slapping her own back, had she been flexible enough to do so. All the pieces of the puzzle were finally falling into place! McGee had been contacted by someone in high places to design a computer program capable to make people talk without even realizing it; he tested his invention on his immediate surroundings, namely his colleagues at work; then, he went to Afghanistan to test his invention on war prisoners; terrorists heard about it and kidnapped McGee for their own gain; Gibbs got sent to retrieve both the traitor and his computer, since both of them falling into the wrong hands would have been a catastrophe for the Allied forces.

Oh, she was so clever! She had found out what McGee had been doing, and it was just a matter of time before she could prove conclusively that he had used his co-workers as Guinea pigs!

Abby danced in joy at the thought, something she had not done in her lab for a long, long time. Her humiliations were over; she would prove McGee's double-crossing and Vance would have no other option than to destroy all the paperwork concerning her suspension before handing out a written apology for having doubted her cleverness and her innocence. She would regain her rightful place as NCIS' Incontestable Queen of Forensic Sciences and no one would be able to criticize her looks, her music or the way she organized her lab. She would magnanimously forgive Gibbs – after all, she still needed his protection – but she would definitively ask for Tony to be kicked out of the team, as he had proved to be a navel-obsessed jerk who had not paid the slightest attention to her troubles. Score one for Abby!

As for Ziva, she would rue the day she had rushed to McGee's aid since her Mossad training had been powerless to protect her from an electronic brainwashing. It was high time the Israeli woman was put down a few notches, anyway – she was too confident in her abilities and even the disastrous events in Somalia had not led her to eat humble pie but she would not be able to get out of this mess scot-free. Score two for Abby!

The look on McGee's face after Abby would reveal his scheming to all NCIS! Not only the traitor would fall from grace, not only his co-workers would physically express their disagreement about having been used like Guinea pigs without their knowledge, but Vance would fire him on the spot and McGee would lose everything: his prized Porsche, his flat, his money, his contract with the _Deep Six_ books' publisher and his dog. Score three for…

_Ohmygosh! Jethro!_

The Lab Rat suddenly stopped her gesticulations as she suddenly remembered the German shepherd which was so dear to her heart. No wonders the dog had been acting weird at Langdon Park; McGee had probably used him as his first test subject and the poor animal's brains had turned into scrambled eggs! The very thought of that innocent dog with the sweet eyes at the mercy of a federal agent playing Dr. Frankenstein was more than Abby could bear. She pictured in her mind Jethro strapped to a kitchen table and forced to stare at a computer's webcam, while McGee was typing on the keyboard like a maniac, indifferent to the beast's whines of pain.

_Oh no, Jethro! Poor Jethro!_

Another idea made Abby's blood turn into ice inside her veins. McGee had a knife; she had seen it as clear as day when he had threatened Tony right in the middle of the bullpen and it was a strong, sharp blade that could easily cut through a man's body… or a dog's.

Maybe McGee had planned to use the knife on Jethro for an impromptu vivisection? Or maybe he would use the dog as target practice for his nasty blade?

_Jethro! Oh, God! The poor thing had been brainwashed and he was in danger of being cut to pieces. He could not defend itself in the state he was and she could not stay at the lab and act as if nothing was happening!_

No, definitively not.

Jethro was in danger and it was her duty to protect him from its knife-wielding master.

And she would do it, even if it was the last thing she would ever do.

To Hell with Gibbs' orders.

To Hell with Vance's authorizations.

To Hell with her landlord!

TBC…


	83. A compassion

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- Hi, I'm back! Summer vacation has been wonderful with lots of ice cream! Homecoming has not been too great, though: lots of work at the office, a problem with my electric board and the washing machine has given up the ghost!

- A big THANK YOU to all of you marvelous persons who have sent messages during my absence. Your enthusiasm towards this story is simply amazing!

- This chapter is more 'contemplative' but it gives a peek of Tim's state of mind after his return to DC. There will be more actions in the next chapters!

- Ducky's quote is from the song _Elle s'en va_ by French-Canadian singer Patrick Norman (b. 1946).

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><p><strong>Chapter 82: In compassion<strong>

_Two weeks later…_

"Just one more extra mile, buddy!"

The only answer was a canine _"Woof_" and that sound made the lonely human running in Langdon Park smile.

It was only 6:00 a.m. and Tim McGee was already jogging in the park, his dog at his heels. Both man and dog were enjoying the fresh air of the early hours of the morning before it would become polluted by human activities and the hydrocarbon fumes coming from cars and trucks of all sorts. But for the time being, the air was fresh, the sky was blue, the exercise was enjoyable and Tim had virtually the park all for himself.

After his prolonged internship at ISAF, Tim had developed a taste for early morning works-out and he had decided to carry on with this routine after his return to DC and civilian life. He had gotten used to wake up at four o'clock in the morning (no need to set his alarm clock: his brains would interrupt his sleep when the time was up) and then, feeling bright and ready to start another day, he would start his two-hour training session with push-ups, sit-ups, stretching and abs, all this on his living-room's carpet out of consideration for his neighbors, who would not have appreciated hearing him exercising at the crack of dawn.

Then Tim would take Jet to the park for a good round of jogging, something the dog enjoyed tremendously: not only was he allowed running alongside his favorite human without a leash (there was hardly anyone in the park so early in the morning, save from a handful of jogging-addicts) but he could play _"scare the squirrels"_ whenever he wanted to! Jet loved those sessions in the park: it reminded him of all the great times he had played here with "Andee", his former handler, but running with "Teem" was a lot better – and he never forgot the little bag of treats, either. After an hour of jogging they would go home, where Tim would give Jet food and water before hitting the shower, having breakfast and getting ready for the new day.

This Timothy McGee was certainly a far cry from his former self, the shy, awkward geek who would forget the outside world by playing computer games for hours; the sleep-deprived "Probie" used to groan in protest under the blankets for at least ten minutes before pushing himself out of bed and stagger to the shower, where the cold water would finally do the job of waking him up. Of course, in a case of an emergency, his morning routine would have been totally different: then, Tim would have gotten up a lot faster – especially after hearing barking-mad Gibbs on the phone, requiring his presence at a crime scene in less than two minutes if he valued his job. Then, McGee would have jumped in his clothes and grabbed his backpack and his car's keys without even bothering to grab something in the kitchen or to go to the bathroom for a lick and a promise, barely having enough time to say good-bye to his dog before leaving his flat in a panic!

Tim had certainly changed; physically, he had grown stronger, thanks to the Marines' training he had endured for almost ten months. Emotionally, he was still coming to terms with everything that had happened to him after having agreed to work on The Watcher: his departure from the US; his teammates' angry reactions; working day and night on the Special Project; meeting Aimee; his kidnapping and subsequent evasion; Butler; Kort; Gibbs; Ziva; Miller… It had been quite an ordeal and Tim had to admit that Vance had been right: he needed help to recover from this emotional roller-coaster from Hell and his sessions with Dr. Turner, twice a week, had allowed him to pour out his heart without faring of being judged, criticized or ridiculed.

Dr. Turner had patiently listened to his grief, his guilt, his anger and had encouraged him to pursue his healthy, daily work-out routine. Like General Stephenson, she had also advised him to _"re-discover the everyday world"_ with shopping trips to the supermarket, dinner with Sarah at the Chinese restaurant or simply playing with Jet in the park. The dog had been of steadfast support: whenever Tim had felt a burst of sadness in the middle of the night, Jet would inevitably wake up and console his master by licking his fingers or gently pressing his hands between his jaws. Once, Tim had been crying in his sleep and an alarmed Jet had not hesitated a second before jumping on the bed and licking his master's tears away. This bout of dog-therapy had awakened McGee and he had hugged his dog before falling asleep again, but Jet had remained on the bed for the rest of the night, dozing with one eye open and ready to bite potential nightmares on the posterior if they dared to annoy his favorite human again!

Tim exited the park and started running in the 20th NE Street, which was leading to Hamlin Street and then to his home. The sky was cloudless and the sun was out as it was the month of June, the time of year with the most hours of sunlight. Jet groaned in disappointment _'Don't walk'_ signal lightened up on the other side of the street: the dog knew it meant he and his master would have to stop running to wait for long seconds, and he hated to interrupt his running! Tim smiled and scratched the German shepherd behind the ears, a sure remedy for his pet's bad mood.

Jet could not take all the credit for boosting Tim's mental health, though; other persons were currently playing an important role in the young man's convalescence by their willingness to listen to him or simply by giving him a hug when the need was too great. Sarah, for example, who had told him he was the best big brother in the world and no one, not even the President of the United States, would make her say otherwise! His sister had thanked him profusely for the beautiful bracelet he had brought her from Afghanistan, and she said she would treasure it forever. Tim had told him about his future transfer to LA and Sarah had immediately encouraged him to go, even though it was a bit hard to see her big brother leaving DC once again, after such a long absence. But the young woman recognized promotion when she saw it and she could only approve of this opportunity to get rid of Gibbs and co. so Tim would finally get the training he should have had years ago and put his career on the fast tracks. Besides, Sarah had reasoned, LA was not Afghanistan and she would have the opportunity to jump in a plane and visit him. They would surf on the Pacific Ocean, visit Disneyland and take pictures of the pink terrazzo stars on the Walk of Fame!

Tim chuckled at the recollection of his sister's enthusiasm, and Jet licked the palm of his hand as the _'Don't' _sign was switched off, leaving only the_ 'Walk'_ signal lightened up. Both human and dog resumed their running on the zebra crossing just before heading for Hamlin Street.

Sarah had been an angel, just like Penny: the old lady had been in Australia at the time of her grandson' arrival in the States, and she was caught up with a series of conferences she was giving at the SydneyConvention and Exhibition Centre so she could not take a plane right away, but she had spent nearly three hours on the phone with Tim – regardless of the communication costs, but Penny had never given a damn about anything whenever her grandchildren were concerned. Tim had assured her that he was in good condition physically but he needed time and therapy to recover from his traumatic experience abroad before leaving for LA on a new assignment. Penny, never the fool, had taken the hint: her grandson would never work again for a bunch of idiots led by a tyrannical ex-Marine, and the transfer was the first step forwards professional recognition and a brilliant career at NCIS. Since she had lived in the West Coast for a while, Penny had sent him a long email filled with advice about how to settle in LA (with a dog!) and she had concluded her mail by telling Tim to call her anytime in case of financial issues. That last part had made McGee smile: his grandmother kept forgetting that he was a famous author on top of being a Federal Agent!

"C'mon, buddy, we're nearly home. Let's shake a leg before someone starts asking questions about why you are running in the streets without a leash!"

Jet growled softly in approval; the much-disliked leash had been left hanging in their shared territory and he simply could not understand the reasons that forced his favorite human to tie him to such a contraption when they were shopping or walking down the streets, except in that special part in Langdon Park where his fellow dogs were allowed to roam free. Jet was well-behaved and he would never jump, bark or bite at another human – male, female or younglings – without his master's express permission. "Teem" had tried to explain that some "bad dogs" had prompted humans to create leashes for protection but this concept was too vague for the German shepherd. Oh sure, he had met some "bad dogs" in his time – stupid mutts only able to eat, fight and reproduce, just like his previous owners – but Jet could still not comprehend how a length of leather could actually improve a dog's behavior.

A woman in a navy blue suit and high heels walked towards McGee and gave him a flirtatious smile, but the young man's only answer was a quickening of his pace. Tim blinked furiously from the annoying tears gathering in his eyes and ran like a maniac; Jet followed suit but whined softly from this sudden change of rhythm. Thankfully, they were not far away from home and three minutes later, they were both panting in the building's elevator, completely out of breath. Tim managed to fish his flat's keys from out of his pocket and they entered the flat in bad need of hydration. Jet made a beeline to his water dish while his master merely slid along the wall to sit on the floor, ignoring the stitch on his side, trying to calm down both the thumping of his heart and the whirlwind in his mind.

McGee called himself an idiot; the unknown woman he had bumped into earlier in the streets had bored absolutely no resemblance to Aimee whatsoever. So why had he gotten so upset, all of a sudden?

Her hair… Her _blonde_ hair.

It had painfully reminded Tim of the late army doctor and, as on cue, his traitorous eyes had seized the occasion to open the floodgates. He had been able to contain the flood so far but salty drops of water were currently running on his cheeks, and it was not due to perspiration.

_Aimee…_

_Her beautiful eyes…_

_Her soft skin…_

_Her heart full of love…_

_Her courage…_

_Her loyalty…_

_Her… perfection._

_Oh sweetheart, sweetheart!_

McGee stifled a sob and buried his face between his hands, wanting no-one to witness his sorrow – not even his dog, even if it was an absurd notion. Doctor Turner had warned him the grief from Aimee's death would overwhelm him without a warning shot and, during these hard times, he should allow himself to cry freely. It was an integral part of grieving, the psychologist had said, and there was absolutely no shame in that. Even centuries of machismo lies had failed to erase this truth and a Federal Agent's badge was not an infallible armor against so-called 'weaknesses' such as feelings. McGee was a human being and there was nothing wrong with crying from the passing of a loved one.

Tim had explained to Doctor Turner that he had never been allowed to grieve in his lifetime, not after his Admiral father had proclaimed that _"crying was only good for girls and sissies"_, a declaration followed by a slap across Timmy's tear-streaked face after a tricycle accident. At school, McGee had been mercilessly teased by bullies if his green eyes were red-rimmed after having been called a fat oaf one time too many so Tim had learned to contain his tears at an early age, never letting anyone see his sorrow (not even during his grandfather's funeral, much to Penny's surprise. She had learned about her son's methods of education only later on, and it had ended with a major row between the old lady and the Admiral). Later, at NCIS, Tim had never let a drop escape from his eyes, not even after he had accidentally shot undercover cop John Benedict, or when Kate had been killed by Ari Haswari and Tony had asked: _"Why didn't he pop McGee?"_, or when he had been unable to revive Erin Kendall after she had been strangled by Jeremy Pryor. Come Hell or rising waters, Tim McGee had not shed a tear during his long years as a Federal Agent, partly from his upbringing but also because he had wanted to prove Gibbs that he was worthy of his badge – too bad it had been a lost cause from the very beginning: his former Boss would rather eat dirt than admit a man without police or military training could become a full-fledged Federal Agent.

Tears kept on flowing and Tim sobbed, his heart breaking for the millionth time at the souvenir of Aimee – lovely, adorable Aimee – being torn to shreds by fire and hate! Jet raised his head from his dish and rushed at his favorite human's side to lick his face. McGee felt a brief surge of anger and he was close to push his pet away; that dog had no rights to interfere in his mourning! He wanted to be alone, was that too much to ask?

But Jet let out a gentle sound and he looked at his master with such a comical expression that it made Tim's anger melt like mist under the sun. He reached out and gathered the German shepherd in his arms to bury his wet face in the dog's furry neck; Jet seized the occasion to lick McGee's ear.

This display of affection made the young man smile through his tears, and it soothed his heart a bit. All of a sudden, a recent conversation he had with Ducky came back to his mind:

_(Flashback)_

"_Timothy, words are not enough to express my relief and happiness at the sight of you being safely home."_

"_Thanks, Ducky. Believe me, it's good to be home," said Tim while serving a cup of tea to the elderly M.E. currently sitting on his couch, while Jet was busy munching on a biscuit while lying near the coffee table._

"_It has been terrible learning about your abduction, and the complete lack of information due to your secret assignment made it even worse. Director Vance could not tell us anything about eventual progresses in the investigation and it was driving us up the wall – poor young Doctor Palmer wanted to call off his wedding until you were found and dear Ziva… well… You know what she has done, in spite of Director Vance's strict orders to remain in DC."_

"_I begged Vance to not launch disciplinary actions against her, and from what I gathered she only got an unofficial reprimand and a half-an-hour long lecture in the Director's office. There won't be any recording of her unauthorized trip to Afghanistan, thanks to the secrecy of my project, so she got out of this mess merely unscathed but Vance has made it clear that the next disobedience would cost both her badge and her job."_

"_Ah, well, one cannot expect Director Vance to turn a blind eye to unwanted initiatives. Dear Ziva has been lucky, indeed, to have been arrested and sent to ISAF with Jethro on the very day of your return to the base, otherwise they would have been expelled from Afghanistan on the spot and they wouldn't have gotten a second chance to enter this country… via discreet means."_

_Tim had sighed loudly at the mention of his Boss, making Ducky rise his eyes from his cup of tea. Sensing that the subject of Leroy Jethro Gibbs was a sensitive matter, the elderly Scotsman let the matter drop and asked McGee what were his projects for the future._

"_I cannot tell you right now, but I won't be working with Gibbs, DiNozzo or Sciuto anymore. My time as their whipping boy is over and if they cannot realize this simple truth, well, too bad for them."_

"_I am really glad to hear that, dear lad. It is time you take care of your career and you have the means to reach a high level in the NCIS hierarchy."_

"_That's what Vance hinted during the debriefing…"_

"_Well, he's not a man to make idle conversations just for the sake of it. Director Vance has seen your potential years ago but he was also quite aware of your strong sense of loyalty towards your teammates, so he could not convince you to ask for a transfer so you would be able to reach your full abilities. That decision had to come from you and after the Afghan events he knew you would refuse to work again with people displaying such a high level of puerility, especially after having been in a war zone."_

"_It may sound strange, Ducky, but in spite of the danger I felt safe in Afghanistan – probably due to the fact that I was surrounded by people who truly had my six."_

"_You have made some good friends there, my lad?"_

"_Yes… Especially one…"_

_The sorrowful tone had made Ducky stop drinking his tea while Jet raised his head; Timothy's eyes were shining from unshed tears and he was wriggling his hands as if he wanted to tear his fingers out, the living picture of a man making desperate efforts to not howl his despair for the whole world to hear._

"_Laddie, what happened?"_

"_Cannot tell you, Ducky… The project…"_

"_I do not need details, Timothy. But you have lost someone dear to you, it is as plain as day. Can I help you in anything?"_

"_I doubt there's anything you can do, Ducky…"_

"_Oh? Never underestimate the resourcefulness of a Scotsman, laddie. It's a mistake the British people have repetitively made over the centuries!"_

"_Oh God, Ducky… She… She was the most beautiful, caring, courageous woman I've ever met… And she loved me, Ducky, loved _**me**_! I've never thought this miracle would happen in my life but… She was an angel of goodness from the Heavens. I loved her with all my heart and I was working up the courage to ask for her hand and then… She was murdered… Killed during an attack and I was… powerless to save her!"_

_Ducky had laid his cup and saucer on the coffee table and had gotten on his feet before engulfing the distressed young man in a bear hug. Startled, Tim had remained frozen for a few seconds before returning the embrace, silently thanking his lucky stars for the old man's affection. Donald 'Ducky' Mallard was a legend at NCIS with his impeccable elocution, his bow ties and his eccentric working manners, the least being talking to corpses at the morgue as if they were still able to hear him but too many people forgot that the affable M.E. was also a war veteran who had seen his share of horrors in battlefields, prisoners' camps and refugee camps. Ducky had a vast collection of anecdotes that he would often ramble about while processing crime scenes or when performing autopsies, which could be annoying at times but, on the other hand, the M.E.'s chatter acted like a safety-valve that kept the agents' sanity intact. They dealt with gruesome death almost on a weekly basis and Ducky was a living reminder that there was more to life than destruction and evil deeds._

"_D-D-Ducky…"_

"_I am so sorry for your loss, my lad. Please accept my sincere condolences," said the older man while Jet had abandoned his biscuit to sit next his master._

"_D-Duck… I… I cannot stop thinking about her… I cannot get the image of her dying out of my head… It haunts me, night and day and I-I think I'm going crazy!"_

"_You are _**not**_ going crazy, Timothy," said Ducky with a no-nonsense tone he rarely employed. "You have survived a very traumatic experience and I have seen hardened veterans that had fallen apart after having endured only a third of what you have gone through. You have seen the worst of humanity in a war zone but also the best, since you have found a good woman to love you in spite of the danger. I quite understand your feelings of powerlessness, pain and rage; I have felt them more than I can count during my days in the British Police, the US armed forces and 'The Regiment' (Tim knew it meant the British SAS). I have lost comrades, friends, lovers during the conflicts that had plagued our planet since WWII and it was worst knowing that I, a qualified medical doctor, had not been able to save people dear to me. You are in mourning and you may feel that you have not done enough to save your friend but I hope you realize that __**nothing that had happened is your fault, Timothy**__. You are a brave man and I don't need proofs like photo shots or videotapes of the attack to know that you have fought the enemies with all your might to protect your lady-love. You always go beyond the call of duty, Timothy. You would have given your life in a snap if it could have saved hers and nobody can accuse you of cowardice or incompetence."_

"_Tony would," said Tim bitterly, still in the old man's embrace._

"_I don't give a fig about Anthony's opinion, and neither should you!" retorted Ducky. "His ability in drawing erroneous conclusions based on his biased opinion about everything and everyone is unworthy of a man who prides himself of being an investigator – a status which, by the way, has been seriously imperiled after a few disastrous sessions with the review board. Anthony reasons only by trite sayings, clichés and locker-room truisms; no wonders he has not made a single friend during all his years in the police forces and at NCIS! You really ought to not worry about what your colleague might or might not say in a given situation, my lad."_

"_I-I'm working on it, Ducky. Oh, yes! I'm trying very hard…" said Tim, remembering the conversation he had with Ziva weeks ago about the 'Rebecca' book by Daphne Du Maurier._

"_You are truly a good man, Timothy!"_

_Ducky had released the young man from his embrace to place both hands on each side of Tim's face, locking his blue eyes into the young man's emeralds._

"_Ducky?"_

"_Laddie, I am going to say a few sentences and I want you to repeat them after me, word for word."_

"_But…"_

"_Will you do it, Timothy?"_

_A moment of silence followed Ducky's question, and then the young man gave a tiny nod._

"_Good. Now, listen carefully and repeat after me: _"I have been through Hell and back…_"_

"_Ducky!"_

"_Ssh, just repeat," said the M.E., still cradling McGee's face between his hands._

_Tim swallowed with difficulty, but repeated nonetheless: "I have been through Hell and back…"_

"And never, not once, have I lost my courage…"

"_And never, not once, have I lost my courage…"_

"Nor my sense of duty, loyalty and commitment towards my country…"

"_Nor my sense of duty, loyalty and commitment towards my country…"_

"I have fought alongside soldiers…"

"_I have fought alongside soldiers…"_

"And never once have I thought to flee the battle to save my life…"

"_And never once have I thought to flee the battle to save my life…"_

"I have done my work diligently…"

"_I have done my work diligently…"_

"I have survived capture and torture…"

"_I have survived capture and torture…"_

"And I have protected my comrades-in-arms from harm and death to the best of my abilities."

That last sentence was difficult for Tim but he managed to say: _"And I have protected my comrades-in-arms from harm and death to the best of my abilities."_

"I have kept my heart and my soul intact under the fire."

"_I have kept my heart and my soul intact under the fire."_

"I have been a good soldier, a great Federal Agent…"

"_I have been a good soldier, a great Federal Agent…"_

"And no-one, not even Gibbs, would have done better than me."

"_Ducky!" had exclaimed Tim, shocked to the soul by this last sentence. But the older man's blue gaze had remained inflexible and, after a hesitation, McGee repeated:_

"_And no-one, not even Gibbs, would have done better than me."_

_Ducky had then released the young man and said:_

"_You are a hero, Timothy McGee – a far too modest one, but a hero nonetheless. Your trip abroad has forged you stronger in body and mind, but you have kept your heart and you have refused to drown into resentment and bitterness whereas the death of your friend would have given you a good excuse to lash out at everyone within your reach. It is normal to feel sad and angry after a loved one has passed away; in fact, I would be seriously worried if you acted like the death of that young woman meant nothing to you! But you have a heart, Timothy, and right now it needs to heal, one step at a time. You will dream about your friend, you will cry, you will laugh at the recollection of the sweet times you have spent together. And then… to quote the song: _"Soon you'll see, the tempest will go away/ As you'll realize she won't come back/ And it will be for you the last turn of the key/ which will open your heart to new destinies/ of love."

"_But will it happen, Ducky? She was a walking miracle… An exceptional woman, who saw past the geek to love the man…. How will I ever find someone like her?"_

_The elderly M.E. had answered with a mysterious smile: "Laddie, I am certain you will find a woman bearing the same qualities as your lady-love – and sooner than you think!"_

_(End flashback)_

Thinking about his conversation with Ducky had calmed Tim down, stopping the flow of tears that had ran on his cheeks. Tired from the work-out and his emotional turmoil, he sighed deeply before releasing Jet from his embrace. The sigh told the dog that his master was feeling a lot better after having being licked and hugged. In case of distress, nothing beat a dog's support!

"What did Ducky meant, Jet? Why did he say I would find another woman like Aimee soon? Was he hinting that I am not doomed to live the rest of my life alone?"

The only answer Jet could provide was a _'Yip'_, and that was what he gave to his favorite human.

"Well, buddy, maybe you're right. But, to quote Doctor Turner, I need to take it one step at a time; and for the moment, I'm overdue for a shower and shave. I'll go wash up and then I will cook us a nice breakfast, what do you think of that?"

Jet approved of this plan by giving his master a good lick on the nose!

TBC…


	84. An eruption

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- I won't be able to post a new chapter next weekend as I will be in Versailles for my graduation. It will be the first time I'll attend such an event and I cannot wait to be there, as you can guess.

- Volcano Vance is erupting! Run for cover! XD

- Igneous rock (derived from the Latin word _ignis_ meaning "Fire") is formed through the cooling and solidification of magma or lava of a volcano (from Wikipedia).

- Pyroclasts are airborne fragments produced by a volcanic eruption (from Wikipedia).

- A phreatic eruption, also called ultravulcanian eruption, occurs when magma heats ground or surface water. One example is the eruption of Mount St Helens in 1980 (from Wikipedia).

- Obsidian is a deep black, volcanic glass formed as an extrusive igneous rock (from Wikipedia)

- To MarkyV: Thank you very much! Tim will definitively keep Ducky's words while packing for LA.

- To earthdragon: thank you for your review! Tim is certainly suffering from PTSD and his therapy sessions with Dr. Turner, plus the steadfast support from Ducky, Jimmy, Ziva, Sarah and Penny will help him a lot through this difficult time… not to forget Jet! ;o)

- To Guest: thank you! Hope your vacation was nice, too.

- To Guest: I am glad you like the chapter: hope you will like the new one, too!

- To None: vacation was wonderful… and I'm ready to take another one!

- To Mark Gibbs: sorry about the Sydney Convention Centre but I have to admit not being very versed about Australia. Wish I could go there, though!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 83: An eruption<strong>

_One week later, in Vance's office…_

"No, Gibbs."

"Leon!"

"I said, NO! And you've got quite a nerve to show your face in my office and make demands after the mess you've done. A wise man would have flown under the radar for the remainders of his days at NCIS but wisdom has never been your strong suit, hasn't it!"

"Leon, I'm worried about the kid…"

"And this mere fact should scare me half to death, considering the stupid initiatives you take out of so-called concern about this particular Agent!"

"Goddammit, Leon! It has been three weeks since his return and I haven't received any news from him. No phone calls, no letters, not even to rip me a new one about my calling Butler in Afghanistan but I'd sooner be punched on the face by the kid than to be left out in the cold like unwanted garbage. McGee's **mine** and I have the right to know how he is faring!"

Director Leon Vance's face turned as hard as igneous rock at those words; Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs had absolutely no sense of self-preservation whatsoever!

"McGee's not **yours**, Gibbs. He doesn't belong to **you** and you cannot claim him as if he were a piece of furniture. Who on Earth do you think you are, his Lord and Master? Got the shackles and whip ready for him?"

"Don't you even _dare_ comparing me a slaver, Leon!" said the ex-Marine, his face as white as his hair from barely-contained rage. "That's not what I meant when I say McGee's mine and you know it. He's one of my adopted kids, just like Tony, Ziva or Abby! I know I've goofed big time but you cannot deny that I am still responsible for McGee. As his Team Leader…"

"He stopped being a member of your team years ago but you were too much an idiot to realize it, even if it was as plain as the nose on your face – or maybe you were too busy praising Agent DiNozzo, consoling Miss Sciuto or annoying Agent David?"

"Leon, this is getting nowhere. I want an update on McGee and I'll get it, one way or the other so you might as well give me some news before I go to the kid's flat and see how he's doing."

That was the last straw: Volcano Vance exploded!

"**ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR STUPID MIND?" **roared the Director for the whole NCIS building to hear.** "YOU'RE PARTLY RESPONSIBLE FOR McGEE'S PREDICAMENT, YOU COULD BE SENT TO PRISON ANYTIME FOR TREASON, AND YOU HAVE THE NERVE TO TRY AND EXTORT NEWS FROM ME? YOU WANT TO BARGE IN McGEE'S FLAT AFTER HE HAS TOLD YOU HE DOESN'T WANT TO SEE YOU IN THIS LIFETIME? I OUGHT TO RIP YOUR BADGE FROM YOUR BELT AND HAVE YOU ARRESTED ON THE SPOT!"**

"I don't care about prison. My only concern is McGee."

"**Oh, yeah? Well, let me tell you something: M****c****Gee's way better when he's not around you and the bunch of jerks you laughingly call your team members! Right now, M****c****Gee is RECOVERING FROM THE WOUNDS HE SUSTAINED ABROAD, THE TRAUMA OF HIS KIDNAPPING AND THE MILLION HOURS HE SPENT WORKING ON HIS PROJECT. FOR THE MOMENT HE NEEDS YOU LIKE I NEED TO BE BASHED OVER THE HEAD WITH A SLEDGEHAMMER, AND i WON'T LET YOU INTERFERE IN HIS RECOVERY BECAUSE YOU CANNOT CONTROL THAT FANTASTIC SELFISHNESS OF YOURS!"**

"Selfish? How can you say that? I devoted my life to NCIS and my team!" protested the silver-haired man.

"Keep that crap to people who are naive enough to believe it, Gibbs. You may think you're a great leader but the truth is, you're the worst Agent of NCIS. Your so-called 'efficiency' is nothing but bullying from sunrise to sunset; your disdain towards the basic rules of politeness is intolerable; the fact that you consider knowledge as a waste of time is a proof of arrogance doubled with stupidity. And do I have to remind you of all the regulations you've breached since you've been hired, simply because you consider _your_ rules as being more valid than this agency's? But what's worse is that fantastic selfishness you show around: _"Don't disturb my universe and never discuss my orders, or get ready to face dire consequences"_.

Vance paused for a brief second, and then bellowed with the violence of a phraetic eruption: "**I repeat, who on Earth do you think you are, LEROY JETHRO GIBBS?**"

The following silence was even more deafening than Vance's eruption. The two men stared stonily at each other and, if Ziva had been present in the office, she would have been struck by the similitude between this row and the confrontation between Gibbs and Stephenson at ISAF, a few months ago.

"The only reason this agency hasn't thrown you out yet is your arrest record," continued Vance with enough heat in his voice to make an ash cloud feel cool. "But even here you cannot claim having reached this result only by your Marine experience and your leadership, Gibbs: if you've had an honest bone in your body, you'd have admitted that you, David and DiNozzo wouldn't have gone very far without McGee's expertise in computers. How do you think you would have localized terrorists and traffickers, otherwise? You would have been contented by your gut's advice? Or listening to DiNozzo's silly chatter until he would actually make some sense? Or maybe you'd have asked David to play "spin the bottle" with one of her knifes on a map, hoping it would point to the right direction?"

"Leon, there's no need to remind me the accomplishments McGee has done since I hired him," said Gibbs, reaching the end of his limited patience. "I damn well know we wouldn't have been able to conduct half of our cases to a satisfactory result without his scientific abilities and his computer skills."

"**Three-quarters** of your cases, Gibbs, and you didn't hired him: NCIS did, so don't try to gain fortune and fame from having recruited that genius within our ranks!" corrected Vance with the violence of a pyroclast bomb hitting the ground after having been ejected from an erupting volcano. "Contrary to popular beliefs, crime cases are not solved by guns and guts alone; without McGee you would have been as helpless as a blind man in a labyrinth but you won't admit it since stubbornness is a sign of being a tough guy. What you cannot understand, you fear and what you fear, you destroy; that's the reason why you enjoy shooting at computers so much – and for your information, it is a puerile, demeaning and ridiculous attitude."

"You cannot blame me for being old-fashioned, Leon!"

"I don't blame you for that, Gibbs. What I do blame, however, is the cruel lack of respect you show towards the learned. Instead of being interested in what this kind of persons could bring to your team, you waste no time belittling their knowledge, constantly criticizing them for not being good enough or fast enough, and let your favorites make their lives a living Hell. For a moment I thought this kind of treatment was reserved only to Agent McGee but it didn't take me long to see your contempt also applied to Doctor Palmer; during his training with Doctor Mallard, you constantly told him, and I quote, to _"get lost, Gremlin"_ whenever you would show up at the morgue under the pretence that you had to talk to Doctor Mallard in private."

"That was the truth!"

"But you couldn't bear the idea of being polite towards a young man working his way through medical school, eh, Gibbs? Palmer is a lot like McGee; he has grown up since his first days in this agency but it is no thanks to you. In fact, the only thing you've taught to these two young men is how to _not_ behave: impoliteness, contempt, physical brutality, name-calling, disregard towards the safety and well-being of teammates, invasion of privacy and, on top of everything, blatant disobedience to direct orders… And you still think you're _"NCIS' finest"_, to quote your son and heir DiNozzo who's the perfect example of your teachings?"

Vance took a toothpick from out of the box sitting on his desk to calm his nerves a bit, but if he had been a cartoon character he would have been drawn with billows of smoke coming out of his mouth, nostrils and ears. Planting the toothpick at the corner of his lips (in his irritated state, he nearly swallowed the small stick of wood in the process), he darted his obsidian-colored eyes on Gibbs' sapphires and said with a calm, but deadly voice:

"Get back to your desk and become invisible, Gibbs. And if I ever hear you or DiNozzo and Sciuto have paid a visit to McGee without my express authorization, you will find your sorry butt in a Gitmo cell before you can even say _"Ya think"_? McGee is off-limits and this interdiction extends to letters, phone calls, emails, unwanted rings of his doorbell, forced entries in his flat (as a gentle reminder: lock-picking is a felony, so give this information to DiNozzo), spying on his dog, harassing his therapist or even bother McGee's family. The kid will talk to you when **he** feels like it, and not the other way round. You don't like it? It disturbs your selfish world? Well, tough, but that's the way things are gonna be for the time being. Now get out of my office before I get too angry and put the cuffs on you for insubordination. Now, OUT!"

An angry slam of an office's door was Gibbs' sole answer. The ex-Marine was downright furious and he did not bother to spare a glance to Pamela – which was a good thing, since the secretary gave him a glare would have frozen molten lava. Gibbs had been angry at Pam after he had learned that she had 'ratted' on Abby after the Lab Rat had called McGee a party-pooper and how she was determined to dismiss his protection during her mission in Mexico. He had even tried to give the secretary a piece of his mind about denouncing his favorite but Pam was not the assistant of a federal agency's director for nothing: she had stood her ground, telling Gibbs that she would talk to Director Vance about Abby's lack of professionalism in a heartbeat if it could contribute to protect Agent McGee. But she certainly would not go through the same kind of trouble for Agent DiNozzo or Team Leader Gibbs!

Inwardly impressed by Pam's backbone, Gibbs had let the matter drop – realizing with sadness that neither Abby nor Tony had made any friends for all their years at NCIS. Gibbs had not wanted any as it suited the _'tough-guy'_ image he showed the world all day along and the very few who had trying to befriend him had grown discouraged within minutes. Tony had lived in the delusion he had made hundreds of lady-friends until the girls in Accounting had learned of him spreading calumnies about McGee; Tony had then earned the nickname of _'DiLiar'_ amongst the NCIS' womankind, forcing him to seek romance outside the workplace. As for Abby, not only had she alienated herself from her fellow forensic colleagues, but she had also managed to discourage her Goth acquaintances by her whims and manipulations. Even the nuns she went bowling with seemed barely able to tolerate her!

Even Ziva had not a lot of supporters amongst the other agents, partly due to her dangerousness but also because of the fact she had laughed alongside Tony during his mean pranks to McGee. The rumor mill had called the ex-Mossad _'the groupie'_ and, even though her attitude had mellowed over the years, the agents had not forgotten her initial lack of solidarity towards Team Gibbs' computer geek. People had been happy to see her back safe and sound after Somalia, there even had been a round of applause on her return but the other agents still remained cautious around her.

Gibbs sighed at the thought of what would happen to his team after he would be forced to retirement or sent to prison, whichever came first. Tim would refuse to work with his former colleagues; Abby and Ziva were on the razor's edge; as for Tony, he was still demoted and it would take a long, long time before he would ever regain his title of Senior Field Agent. Not a brilliant result for the end of Gibbs' career, that was for certain…

"Boss?" asked Tony's voice.

Startled, Gibbs snapped out of his reverie and realized he was standing in front of his own desk. He had been so lost in his thoughts that he had walked on auto-pilot throughout the bullpen, completely unaware of the rounded eyes of the other federal agents who had heard the sky-breaking explosion in Vance's office earlier on. Tony was looking at him as if he had grown an extra head but Ziva looked distracted, constantly glancing at her computer screen as if she was waiting for a message to pop up any second.

"Yeah, DiNozzo?"

"It didn't go too well, did it?"

"Ya think?" growled Gibbs while sliding down on his chair. His confrontation with Vance had left him bone-tired and he was not in the mood for idle conversation.

Tony frowned at those words; he was used to the ex-Marine's sarcasms but he had the right to know what exactly had transpired in the Director's office. He had heard Vance's loudest arguments – like the rest of the NCIS agents – but some parts had not been able to go through the thickness of the office's door.

"C'mon, Boss, what did Vance say? We've heard him screaming like a maniac but from down here, it didn't make much sense."

"Long or short version, DiNozzo?"

"Short; it's always better when it's short, except when I am in bed with a beautiful woman."

Ziva discreetly rolled her eyes heavenwards behind her computer screen. That last part had been so subtle…

"Vance is forbidding us to contact McGee in any way, and he won't hesitate to show us the door if we transgress his orders. He knows you enjoy lock-picking McGee's door and you will end up in jail if you dare pull that stunt again. End of story."

"That's it? But… Did he tell you how Probie is faring, at least?" asked the Senior Agent.

"No. McGee will talk to us only if he wants to and Vance says it is best for all of us if we keep our distances from the kid. Considering my goof and the lies you've served him at MTAC, there's a good chance McGee will avoid contacting us for the next three decades!"

"Come on, Boss, this is too much! Okay, I can admit Probie being angry at me so now he's sulking in his flat, but it won't last. Every time I've played a prank on him, he got crossed only for a few seconds before shrugging the whole matter off. He's like a Timex, you know? He takes a' licking and keeps on' ticking, and his stay in Afghanistan hasn't changed anything. Deep down, he's still the Probie and he needs us!"

Gibbs slapped his forehead out of sheer frustration; Tony really could not see further than the stereotypes he had engraved deep inside his brains!

"_Oh, yeah? And WHO engraved those stereotypes there in the first place?"_ scolded Gibbs' inner voice of reason. But the ex-Marine did not have the time to start an argument with himself as Ziva's voice rose about the bullpen's brouhaha.

"McGee's not a watch, Tony. It is stupid and demeaning to use an advertising slogan from the Fifties to resume his personality. And for your information, McGee is _**not**_ the same man who has left us last September; I've stayed with him at ISAF and I've seen the changes with my own eyes: he's more confident, more mature and he has endured a physical training that would put mine to shame. He has made enormous progresses over the months and it is safe to say that he doesn't need us any longer to be a full-fledged Federal Agent."

Tony let out a bark of laughter: "You're joking!"

"Am I noted for my humor?" asked a frowning Ziva.

"Oh come on, ninja girl! Probie may have seen a few things abroad but give him a few weeks and his stutter will be back with a vengeance; he'll regain his former nervous, insecure self in no time and he'll beg to get his job back. Then, our team will be complete and we'll be ready to tag the baddies all over DC. Hey, that rhymes! Listen to this, I have written a new advertising slogan! It could even become our NCIS song: _we're ready to tag the baddies, all over DC…_"

Ziva got on her feet and left her desk, feeling nauseated by such a display of puerility. She had hoped against all odds to get a message from Tim but her email box had remained desperately empty and it had not improved her mood at all. She knew Tim needed time to recover from his ordeal but her feelings towards him had grown steadfastly stronger and the wait was getting unbearable. She wanted to see Tim, to hug him, to make the nightmares and regrets go away but Vance had been inflexible during their conversation at his office: no contact with McGee until Doctor Turner had said so, and Agent David had better keep that in mind if she valued her job.

But during that long, tedious and difficult lecture, Ziva had felt once or twice that Vance had figured out her _real_ motivations for having rushed to Tim's rescue in spite of his orders. Unlike Gibbs, Vance was not against workplace romances…

"Hey, where are you going?"

"To the ladies' room, Tony. Why, do you want to tag along?"

DiNozzo made a grimace; the last time he had tried to follow a woman in the ladies' room, he had received a good slap across the face before being called a _'perv'_. It had discouraged him from trying again, even if Ziva had no scruples to follow him or Probie in the guys' room – but, then again, a man had to be suicidal to try and slap Ziva or call her a perv!

Tony grunted a _"No"_ and the ex-Mossad headed to the ladies' room to avoid throttling the Special Agent, but not before one last parting shot:

"You only realize you've gone too far when there's a knife embedded in your office chair, Tony."

Gibbs grunted in approval, which vexed DiNozzo to no end. He picked up a file and feigned to not have heard Ziva's acerbic comment, but even he was not able to pull the wool out of his Boss' eyes so, after a few minutes, he slammed the file back on his desk with a gesture of disgust.

"She's wrong! I don't need a knife near my crotch or any other part of my athletic anatomy to..."

"Shut it, DiNozzo," grumbled Gibbs while putting on his reading glasses.

"Boss!"

"I said, shut it! Do you want me to spell it for you?"

"Good grief, Boss! What happened to you in Afghanistan? This is _me_, Anthony DiNozzo Junior, the best Agent of NCIS after you, remember? We've been working together for years, we've solved hundreds of cases, we've always had each other's six and we've shared everything, the good and the bad. But you've been more tight-lipped than usual since you came back from Kabul and you haven't even bothered to bring back Probie to work by the scruff of his neck. What's wrong with you?"

Gibbs took out his reading glasses and threw them on his desk at the risk of breaking a lens, his eyes shining like a wolf's.

"And why, pray tell, should I bring McGee back by the scruff of his neck?"

"Because Probie thinks too highly of himself, that's why! Frankly, I think Abby's right: this hush-hush mission has caused Probie's head to inflate like a hot-air balloon and now he's playing the ignoring diva, as if he has become too good for the likes of us. He needs to be taken down a few notches and to come back to work behind his computer, where he belongs!"

"I've always known you had short-term memory, DiNozzo, but this really takes the cake: _McGee's in therapy and he needs time to recover from his ordeal; doctor's orders!_"

"So what? I didn't need therapy after Iraq or Somalia or having wasted my time aboard the USS Ronald Reagan. And since when do you care about doctors' orders? Apart from Ducky, you never listen to their opinions and you've always said you never saw a therapist in your life, even not after your wife and daughter had been killed by Reynosa. Well, guess what? I went straight back to work after Iraq and Somalia because I'm a true professional who knows his work and doesn't stray from his duty, just like you. We're no wusses crying in a therapist's office for hours to recover from whatever ordeals we've faced. We're tough guys and we don't fall apart at the first sight of blood, unlike Probie!"

The silver-haired man remained silent for a minute, his lips pressed against one another so tightly it formed a perfect line below his nose. Then he got on his feet and said with a no-argument tone:

"My office. Now."

Tony sighed and followed his Boss and mentor without adding another word. The 'office' in question was the elevator's cabin and the young man damn well knew what would happened in the near future: a head-slap, a remonstrance and another head-slap used as a period and end before Gibbs would flip on the emergency switch and they would return to their business. Nonetheless, he stepped inside the elevator and remained stoical after Gibbs had immobilized the cabin a few seconds after having hit the Lower Lobby button but then, and against all odds, the ex-Marine did not slap the Senior Agent on the back of the head. He contented himself in rubbing his eyes with his thumb and index finger before saying:

"I'm tired, DiNozzo."

"What?" asked Tony, shocked to hear this admission of weakness from the strongest man who had ever walked on Earth.

"I'm tired of hearing nonsense and accusations running through my team. I'm tired of trying to make you understand that McGee had been violently initiated to the horrors of war and he deserves some time to recover from PTSD like any other soldier. I'm tired to hear you trying to sweep your colleague's trauma under the carpet in a desperate effort to hog the spotlight again, even though there's no one in the theater to applaud you. I'm tired of Abby's ridiculous statements and her attempts to make Tim responsible for her imperiled situation, even though he had done nothing but work his butt off on a project that will protect his homeland. I'm tired of this silence; I'm tired of trying to glue my team back together when its members keep on tearing each other apart like a bunch of wild dogs over a meaty bone. I'm tired of working on cold cases; I'm tired to wait until Vance announces me what the consequences of my disobedience will be. I'm tired of being yelled at by Vance; I'm tired of you pretending to be Superman and being invulnerable as I damn well know it is a lie. This whole goddamned business had worn me to the bone: I went through wars all my life but I've never felt such a state of tiredness…"

"Boss…"

"And Ziva is right: you realize hazing has to stop only after someone has threatened to turn you into a eunuch."

"That's not true, Boss. I…"

"Save the lip, DiNozzo. I'm not interested in what you have to say and I don't want to hear it."

That was a bitter blow for the Senior Agent, and he swallowed his rancor with difficulty before asking with what he hoped to be a detached tone:

"I see. Very well. So, what are we going to do?"

"There's no "We", DiNozzo. In case it has escaped your attention, we're not a team any more. We. Have. Lost. McGee."

"Just for the time being, Boss! He'll come back."

"Stop deluding yourself! McGee has no reasons to work with us again. We've lost him. I've lost him."

"So what are we… What are _you_ going to do, then? Are you going to make Probie understand that he'll blow away his career if he continues to snob us?"

"No, I won't do that. I'm going to resign."

TBC…


	85. An interrogation

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- Hi, I'm back! Graduation has been a wonderful experience with about 400 graduates and their families filling a whole room at the Palais des Congrès of Versailles, located next to King Louis XIV's palace which made a wonderful décor for the photos. There were colorful gowns, speeches, a great buffet and hundreds of proud relatives… including enthusiastic toddlers who screamed _'Mommy!' _or_ 'Daddy!'_ when their parents climbed on stage!

- Charles Darwin (1809 – 1882) was an English naturalist and geologist (from Wikipedia).

- A lemming is a small rodent usually found in or near the Arctic. Contrary to popular beliefs, they don't commit mass suicide during their migration but can drown in large bodies of water (from Wikipedia).

- To RedDragen: thank you very much for your kind words. The graduation has been a blast! ;o)

- To Don'tYellAtMe: I think you're going to appreciate Gibbs in this chapter.

- To EMZ1993: thank you! I did have a great time!

- To Beth: I'm so glad you like this story and I hope you will like this new chapter.

- To Guest: Leon Vance will play a major role in Tim's new career prospects.

- To Henrietta: thank you for your much-appreciated support!

- To None: Gibbs and Tony have a long conversation in this chapter about resigning.

- To Guest: sorry for the cliffhanger! xD

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 84: An interrogation<strong>

"Repeat that?"

"You heard."

"C'mon, Boss! Tell me you're not serious!"

"I AM serious."

"But you can't resign!"

"And why not, pray tell?"

"Why not? But… But… Well, because you're the best Team Leader of NCIS, that's why!" sputtered DiNozzo, absolutely astonished at the mere idea that his mentor could leave the agency in a state of disgrace. Tony had convinced himself years ago that resigning was only good for cowards and Gibbs was the very image of virile courage under fire. He would never have thought, not in a million years, that his personal superhero would actually consider quitting!

"The best Team Leader of NCIS, right," snarled the white-haired ex-Marine. "I have wronged one of my agents for years; I have spouted ridiculous ideas in the shape of rules; I have spectacularly failed in making my subordinates understand the basic concepts of solidarity and respect. Leroy Jethro Gibbs is a real shoe-in for the title of Best Team Leader, for sure!"

Tony ran both hands in his hair, and only the fear of getting bald and compromising his chances with the ladies stopped him from pulling at the strands out of sheer frustration.

"Boss, what you've just said is madness. Pure, absolute madness! You need to get back to your senses, and soon: otherwise, Vance will call for an ambulance and you'll be sent to the loony bin in no time."

"Oh, really? I'd like to see him try! And for your information, I'm perfectly sane, DiNozzo."

"Sane? How in the world can you say that, after announcing your resignation out of the blue? Only a madman could throw away his career at NCIS simply because one of his teammates is having a delayed teenage angst and is sulking in his bedroom!"

"Tim is not having a teenage angst! When in the world are you going to stop belittling him?" exploded Gibbs. "Can't you see that your permanent smear campaign is partly responsible for McGee's departure, along with my negligence towards his well-being and Abby's manipulations? Is your skull actually made of extra-strong granite that you cannot understand what it is obvious for the rest of humanity?"

"But you don't have to leave simply because of Probie! I mean, sheesh, what kind of a disproportionate reaction is that? I can understand you're upset after Probie has shouted from the rooftops that he won't come back but you shouldn't consider his departure as a personal failure. It's probably for the best, anyway: Probie has always been too soft and he isn't cut for the work we're doing at NCIS. So yeah, okay, he has learned a trick or two in Afghanistan about knives and he has shred a few pounds in the desert, I'll grant him that but deep down, he knows he can't stand the pressure of working with you. He's a civilian to the core and no amount of training will ever change that fact. I mean, he's always clinging to outdated concepts such as politeness and manners, and then he goes sickeningly sweet to everyone just before screaming bloody murder when people walk over him. Well, tough, but in this world we live there's no place for boy-scout morality. Only the strong survives, to quote Charles Dawsome – there, see? I can play Mister Know-It-All just like Probie!"

"Then you should quote your sources better: it's Charles _Darwin_, and he has never written or said that only the strong survives – a popular misconception. You really have nothing but clichés as knowledge!" grumbled Gibbs.

"So you're gonna criticize my education, now?" shot a vexed Tony back. "The great Leroy Jethro Gibbs, who has showed nothing but the outmost contempt for geeks, is suddenly wishing he had a walking encyclopedia as a Senior Agent? That's pretty hypocritical from where I stand!"

"It's not hypocrisy, Tony: it's the painful realization that I've been wrong my whole life and believe me, it isn't something that I wish upon anyone. I've been a bastard towards whoever had more brains than me and I've desperately tried to make them look inadequate or clumsy at all costs, while being too damn stubborn to realize I was making a complete fool out of myself. Gibbs the Brains-Hater, that's how I will be remembered at NCIS: what an accomplishment! It is one of the reasons why I'm resigning: it is too late for me, but not for you to earn the values of respect. A new Team Leader will show you the errors of my ways, and he'll train you to be a better Agent."

"A better Agent? I don't need to be bettered, I'm perfect as I am!" protested Tony.

"There's always room for improvement, DiNozzo."

"I don't need to improve myself or my skills or anything else for that matter; I'm NCIS' finest! How could I not be? I've followed your training through and through without a word of complain, not one. I've never questioned your leadership; I have faced the most gruesome murders without puking my guts out, just to make you proud. I've worked eighty hours per week, sacrificing my personal life in the process and any chances of a steady relationship. What more do you want from me?"

"I've trained you **wrong**, Tony, and the sooner you'll admit it, the better. Has your demotion taught you anything?"

"I wouldn't have been demoted if it hadn't been for McGee's whines!"

"NO! McGee has nothing to do with your downgrading. The review board gave a long list of your shortcomings that you've never bothered to correct out of misplaced loyalty to my rules, especially the very convenient no. 6. I should have broken a leg the day I've made up Rule no. 6, considering the damages I've done to the team."

"Boss…"

"I should have stepped up years ago and tell you when you went too far but I remained as silent as an oyster, stupidly thinking that McGee had to be bullied just like I've been at Boot Camp but we work in a Federal Agency, for God's sakes, the rules at NCIS are different! Calumnies and mean pranks are severely sanctioned and only the fact that we both benefitted from the benevolence of our former Directors has prevented us to be shown the door."

"What do you mean?"

"Tom Morrow was perfectly aware of your less-than-amiable attitude towards McGee; however, he had his sights on a prize job so he swept all the incidents under the carpet, since it wouldn't have been good for his career to have a probationer complaining about his teammates. If Morrow couldn't keep federal agents under control, then he could hardly pretend to be qualified for a job at Homeland Security! As for Jenny Sheppard, she would have done anything to get me back in her bed – including turning a blind eye and a deaf ear to McGee's woes. And after Vance became Director, Tim had to prove him many times that he wasn't the coward **you** made him appear to be after **you** deliberately outmaneuvered him for this mission in Iraq. Damn it to Hell, DiNozzo, whatever possessed you? You wouldn't have acted differently if you had wanted Vance to fire Tim on the spot."

"That's not true, I've never wanted that! I was the perfect man for this mission but Probie had to go and have delusions of grandeur, wrongly thinking he had a chance to survive in a war zone so yeah, I fed him a little lie but it was for his own good."

"And did _'his own good'_ included a scolding from the Director, a public humiliation and the feeling of being backstabbed by the man who is supposed to have his six anytime, including in the office? If you think I'm proud of you for having misled McGee, then you're in for a rude awakening, DiNozzo. I should have kicked your ass in the bullpen right after your return but, as usual, I did nothing. Just like Sarah McGee said, I sat on my butt and did nothing and I can only blame myself: I've fed you rotten rules to live by, especially the one claiming that you never have to acknowledge your wrongs and you've followed them unquestioningly. Your behavior is like a lemming jumping into ice-cold water during migratory season: it will kill the beast, but it jumps nonetheless."

"So all of a sudden, I'm a moron, that's it? I've followed your teachings to the letter since there's no room for discussion – your way or the highway – and now you have a change of heart and you compare me to an empty-skulled rodent?"

"Think about it for a while, Tony: how many friends do you have at NCIS?"

The question left the younger man speechless for a moment. What that had to do with Gibbs' resignation and his astonishing declaration that his rules were worthless?

"Well, I… I-I don't know. I mean, we're always together, aren't we? You, me, Ziva, Abby, Ducky, Jimmy and even McGee. We go to crime scenes, we arrest the bad guys and then we go to bars and celebrate accordingly – but it's always the six of us, since we have each other's sixes and we remain together about 90% of the week. And then, during weekends, I'm busy flirting with the ladies so there's no time left to talk with colleagues attend agency's events. Besides, it would bore me to tears! Who in his right state of mind would go to picnics, or baseball matches, or even a play performed by kids when I can have the time of my life at the disco? I work hard to solve cases so I deserve some _warrior's repose_."

"Back to my question, DiNozzo: how many friends have you made at NCIS since you've been hired?"

"I didn't, okay?" admitted Tony, annoyed by the turn this conversation was taking. "The other agents are jealous of our crime-solving rate so it's pointless to go all nicey-nicey to try and make them appreciate us. Who needs them, anyway? You don't socialize much, either – whenever you have some free time you stay in your basement making boats. Abby doesn't give a damn about the other forensics scientists at the lab: as soon as she leaves the building, she's off to a Goth concert or she goes bowling with the nuns. Ziva jogs down the streets and then she spends hours sharpening her knifes or cooking. Ducky sits home with his souvenirs and Jimmy runs off to his fiancée. Only McGee wastes his free time with that Boys and Girls Club and he's too dumb to realize the kids laugh behind his back!"

"You're wrong, DiNozzo. Some of those kids have parents who work at NCIS and they appreciate the good influence McGee has on their children when he talks about protecting the environment, playing safe and respecting one another. McGee's the only one who has good relations with the other agents and there's no wonder they all supported his decision to leave for Afghanistan while commentating with the harshest words about the ambiance reigning within our team."

"Oh, right – so McGee's a saint and we're the baddies, eh?" asked a sarcastic Senior Agent.

"No, DiNozzo. McGee's not a saint and he has never pretended to be one. He is a man who has refused to blindly stick to his Boss' rules. He hasn't renounced to his personality simply to please me: come Hell or rising waters, he has steadfastly remained true to himself. Oh sure, he has accepted my tutelage but he has done it the _intelligent way_, meaning he has learned how to become a good field agent while setting aside my lessons in rudeness whereas you, Abby and Ziva took the whole lot without questioning. McGee's the only one who has kept his analytical abilities intact and this discernment will get him to high places – he's far less naïve than you say him to be, and unlike me he's not an arrogant bastard using his experience to belittle people."

"Yeah, well, your arrogance saved your hide – and ours – many times in the past."

"And at what costs, DiNozzo? I've trained you to be like me, a man filled with contempt and living in solitude. Is that really what you wanted to become?"

"It still doesn't explain why you want to leave with your tail between your legs," said Tony, re-entering the fray.

"I've told you: it's to give you, Abby and Ziva a chance to salvage your careers at NCIS. Once you get a new Team Leader you will soon realize there's more to life than stupid jokes and names-calling."

"**You can't leave me!"** said the younger man with a hint of hysteria in his voice. **"You can't do that! You're my Boss and my mentor. I need your guidance, your training! And, above everything else, I need your support!"**

"Tony, calm down!"

"**Calm down? Don't you understand what's going to happen? Vance will destroy me if you leave: he'll keep me chained to a desk and I cannot stay in an office all day long, I just can't! Unlike McGee, I don't have agencies tearing each other to pieces like a bunch of wildcats to offer me another job: the FBI guys hate my guts, Kort will sabotage any application I would fill for the CIA out of revenge and the Baltimore PD won't take me back, simply because my former Captain has no sense of humor and he didn't appreciate my jokes."**

Tony suddenly screamed at the top of his lungs: **"You're the one who cannot understand! YOU CAN'T LEAVE! If you leave NCIS, I'm a goner!"**

_**TWACK!**_

The head-slap resonated like a rifle shot inside the elevator's cabin. Tony groaned and rubbed his skull with both hands: this time, Gibbs had truly hit him until he would see stars!

"Jeez, Boss, that packed a punch."

"You didn't give me much of a choice, Tony. Screaming like a maniac in an elevator is not worthy of a Senior Agent."

"And how on Earth do you expect me to react? You've been my surrogate father for years; without you, I'd have be a deadbeat cop in Baltimore with no hopes whatsoever for promotion, spending his days running after crack-heads in the streets or hauling prostitutes' asses down at the station for solicitation. You're the only one who has ever believed in me, Boss! You got me out of this mess and you offered me a job, a _real_ job. And you wonder why I've followed your training without asking questions? McGee has two degrees under his belt so he can quit whenever he wants and work for a multi-million dollars' computer company. I haven't been that lucky; the only way I have to keep my job is to be the best in all I do. So okay, maybe I'm not Mister Popular at NCIS but I'm a good investigator, the best of all!"

"Luck has nothing to do with McGee's education, DiNozzo. He worked his ass off to get his degrees, especially after the Dadmiral disowned him. If I hadn't been an idiot, I would have encouraged you to sharpen your skills by attending workshops, instead of proclaiming loud and clear that my training is the only valid one. Do you know what Tim told me at ISAF? He said that you take for gospel's truth my life experience."

"Well, he's right for once. You're my mentor, why shouldn't I follow your teachings?"

"That's where we've both been wrong, Tony: _mentoring doesn't involve brainless imitation_. McGee didn't follow my teachings blindly and I resented him for that, whereas he was showing me the right way the whole time. Teachers must learn from their students as much as students learn from their teachers. Later, when you have your own team, you will understand that servile students are the worst audience a teacher can have."

"_My_ team? You think I still have a chance in becoming Team Leader after having being demoted?"

The hopeful tone in the younger man's voice tugged at Gibbs' heart; for all his bravado and carelessness, Tony had never grown out of his _'kid-scared-of-being-forgotten-by-his-father'_ state, prompting him to hog the limelight and to push away anyone who came too close to him. His desperate search for recognition had prompted him to firstly become a cop, and then a federal agent ambitioning to have his own team one day and Gibbs was resolved in making Tony's dream become true – even if it meant for the ex-Marine to leave NCIS so DiNozzo would get some real training from a competent mentor, just like Tim had in Afghanistan with General Stephenson. It hurt to admit it, but his two adopted sons would flourish better after they had detached themselves from Gibbs and his stubborn arrogance.

"Yeah, DiNozzo, I'm convinced you have good chances in becoming Team Leader. Don't let this demotion business discourage you, as you have the potential to overcome this stumbling block. Learn from your new mentor, acknowledge the wrongs you've done to McGee, ask for forgiveness for having lied to the ladies in Accounting and become an agent who truly knows what _'teamwork'_ means."

"Boss…"

"Do you remember when McGee's grandmother came to the bullpen? She advised me to read a book from Confucius, and there's a quote that says: _"__Wisdom, compassion and courage are the three universally recognized moral qualities of men."_ You already have courage, now you just need to acquire wisdom and compassion and there are not qualities I can teach you since I don't have them."

"Aw, c'mon, you exaggerate, Boss. Why, I remember the time…"

"Enough, DiNozzo. We stayed in this elevator for too long and we have to back to work. Now you go to your desk, keep your head low and your mouth shut. I'll convince Vance to give you and Ziva a new Team Leader to get your careers back on tracks – you both are good investigators and Vance isn't a revengeful idiot; he's not going to fire you and deprive NCIS of two of its main assets, just to spite me."

"But what about Abby?"

"What about her?" asked Gibbs, raising his hand in the direction of the emergency switch.

"Boss, she's gonna hit the roof once she learns you're planning to quit! And you know she'll blame McGee for this, with her usual dazzling clarity of mind."

The silver-haired man slapped at the switch and the elevator came back to life with a loud mechanical groan.

"Abby has better stay out of McGee's way if she knows what's good for her. Otherwise, I won't lift a finger to help her as I'm getting sick and tired to pull her ass out of the fire. Even since McGee has announced his departure for Afghanistan, she seems to have lost all her good sense and I'm running out of ideas to protect her. She's obsessed with the dog, too, and I wouldn't be surprised if she tried to another stunt just like she's done at Langdon Park – she simply cannot understand that the dog doesn't want to have anything to do with her, and frankly I cannot blame the mutt!"

* * *

><p><em>At Tim's flat…<em>

"Here you go, Jimmy. One fresh beer for you, one for me, potato chips for both of us and a treat for Jet."

"Wow, thanks, Tim!"

The newly-graduated Doctor Palmer was sitting on the couch, at the exact place where he had given Tim the MP4 as a good-bye present, months ago. Jimmy had been overjoyed to hear about McGee's safe return from Afghanistan and he had impatiently waited by the phone for Doctor Mallard's call, telling him when would be the best time to come and visit the hero. Jimmy was quite aware that Tim would be traumatized from his kidnapping, both physically and emotionally, so coming up his flat unannounced was quite out of the question. Jimmy had stayed still until Ducky would give him the go-along signal, and when the much-awaited-for phone call had rung, the young M.E. had jumped in his car to zoom in the direction of Tim's place, without taking the time to tell Breena where he was going. Then again, he had been talking about Tim for the past two weeks so his fiancée did not have to guess for long why Jimmy was in such a hurry.

"Gosh, it's great to see you alive and whole, Tim. I've missed you like crazy for months and when Director Vance told us about your kidnapping… it felt as if my heart had exploded in the conference room! We were all frantic of worry about you and I've started breathing again only after hearing Gibbs and Ziva had left to rescue you in Afghanistan."

"I'm so sorry to have worried you, Jimmy. Believe me, it wasn't deliberate."

"You don't have to convince me, Tim – only a fool would say that you've let yourself being captured on purpose; I know you fought the kidnappers with all your might and they caught you simply because you were outnumbered. But Vance also told us about your escape and frankly, it was colossal! A feat like that should be written in huge gold letters in NCIS' book."

Jet, which was lying on the living-room's rug, stopped munching on his piece of jerky to give a loud _'woof'_ of approval, making the two men burst out in laughter.

"See? Even your dog agrees with me. Thanks for your support, pal!" said Jimmy while ruffling Jet's fur.

"Thanks, Jimmy but I'm not sure my adventures will be written anywhere but in 'Top Secret' files. The mission was of a secretive nature so, technically, I wasn't even there."

"But you can use your experience abroad for another Thom E. Gemcity's book? You promised you would write a new _'Deep Six'_ novel after your return."

Tim made a small grimace while swallowing a mouthful of beer, and Jimmy feared for an instant that he had committed a goof; but McGee smiled gently at his friend and said:

"I don't think I'll ever be able to use the outlines of this mission for the new adventures of Agent McGregor, Jimmy. Some aspects are too painful..."

"Of course, I can understand. There's no rush, actually. You can write a new book when you feel like it..."

Jimmy munched on a handful of chips, unaware that Tim's heart was twisting inside his chest as he remembered his fallen comrades, the explosions, fire, bullets and shrapnel flying everywhere... and Aimee...

"... do for the next few weeks?" asked Jimmy's voice, pulling Tim out his painful memories.

"Hunh?"

"I said, what are you going to do for the next few weeks? I imagine you won't go back to work straightaway; to quote Doctor Mallard, you need time to recover, body and soul."

"Well, Vance shares Ducky's opinion. I'm to stay home, take care of my business and attend therapy sessions with Doctor Turner. Once she gives me the all-clear I'll have to see what Vance has in store for me, professionally speaking."

"I suppose you won't work for Team Gibbs again, eh?"

"That's right. After the shit-storm my teammates released above my head about my departure, and the things I've seen in Afghanistan, I'll never be able to work for Gibbs again. Tony has laughed for years about me being immature but I've taken an accelerated course in Afghanistan... Nothing matures you better than risking life and limbs in one of the world's worst zones of conflicts."

"You've matured, for sure!" said Jimmy while eying Tim, taking note of the muscled arms, the tanned skin, the red scar on the forehead. McGee had physically changed but Jimmy hoped he had not lost his heart in the process. Doctor Mallard had told him that it was not the case but who could tell, with war wounds? Besides, Jimmy had not forgotten the dirty trick Tony had played at MTAC about he and Ziva being a couple: Tim could ever agree to work again with a man telling tall stories just to taunt him.

"So... you're free for the next few weeks?" asked Jimmy with a fake hesitant tone.

"Yes, why?"

"Well, since you have plenty of time on your hands, I wondered if you could write something... Not a whole book, mind you, something shorter."

"Like what?"

Jimmy swallowed his chips, and smiled.

"A toast."

"A toast?"

"A wedding toast, to be precise."

"Oh, my God... Jimmy, with all that turmoil I've forgotten all about your wedding plans with Breena!" exclaimed Tim, feeling confused and embarrassed to have forgotten about Jimmy's great event. He hoped it was still possible to buy a present from the gift registry. "So you have decided for the date?"

"That's right, and the wedding will be celebrated in two weeks. The church, Breena's dress, the caterer, my smoking, the flowers, the music, the guests' list... everything is ready. And now, I am asking you if you'd agree to be my Best Man."

Tim slammed down his beer bottle on the coffee table out of surprise, prompting Jet to raise his head, alarmed by the sudden noise.

"M-Me? Your Best Man? But, I thought... I thought you would ask your brother..."

"I don't have one, Tim."

"Or one of your friends from Medical School..."

"They are good guys, but I cannot trust them for the most important day of my life – they hit the bottle way too quickly during parties."

"Or maybe Ducky..."

"He's way too old to endorse this kind of responsibilities! He'll be seated next to my parents during the whole ceremony. I certainly wouldn't ask Tony, not after what he had done to Sam and you. As for Gibbs, he'd scare the living daylights of the guests. Tim, I don't want anybody else but you. You're smart, caring, a great agent and, above all, a good person whom I am proud to call my friend. So, do you agree to be my Best Man and help me survive the day of my wedding?"

"Oh my God, Jimmy... Yes, I will be your Best Man!"

"Fantastic!"

Two beer bottles were clinked together in celebration, and Jet idly wondered what all this noise was about.

TBC...


	86. A transgression

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

_- Ignorantia juris non excusat_ ("Ignorance of the law does not excuse") is a legal principle found in Roman law (from Wikipedia).

_- Inner sanctum _is Latin for "inside sanctuary", meaning a private place.

- Cosette is a fictional character in the novel _Les Misérables_ (1862) written by French poet and novelist Victor Hugo (1802-1885).

- To Brianne: Tony has still a long way to go before he will finally shred out of his beloved 'frat boy' personality ;o)

- To Guest: thank you!

- To RedDragen: Tim will indeed have a nice surprise at Jimmy's wedding!

- To Lisa: thank you very much for your message. It is nice to know this story has such nice supporters and rest assured I will carry on writing.

- To Guest: like you, I found Tony's attitude revolting in the episode where Tim is robbed by his landlady's son. It was unworthy of a former cop and the supposedly best Agent of NCIS!

- To Guest: thank you for your kind words. Believe it or not, but Jet will play a role in getting Tim and Ziva closer!

- To None: my lips are sealed, but keep on reading xD

- To Henrietta: thank you! I loved your mentioning of Stephen Hawkins.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 85: A transgression<strong>

The following two weeks were a whirlwind of activities for Tim, who had to prepare his future move to Los Angeles. There was still time before he would have to take the plane but he had a mountain of stuff to sort out: which ones of his clothes he would keep or give to Goodwill; which books would be packed or sent to charities; his personal archives had been cleared up by shredding documents past their usefulness (paid bills, old bank reports, expired guarantees) while keeping the indispensable ones (pay slips, work contracts, insurance papers, prescriptions). He had inquired about traveling by plane with a dog and he had found an affordable airline company which provided the best care for pets, way beyond locking them up in a crate and letting them freeze in the luggage compartment. Changes of address could be easily done on-line for his bank accounts, taxes, mail and insurance – another blow to Gibbs' teachings, proclaiming loud and clear that the Internet was just a deathtrap for fools and tough guys dealt with their problems man-to-man… even though the idea of getting up and physical with bureaucracy was nothing but idiotic!

Tim had contacted the _'Coast-to-Coast Moving Cie'_ and a representative had showed up on his doormat the next day to draw up a reasonable estimate for sending the furniture to LA – even though the costs would be taken care of by NCIS, Tim refused to take advantage of his recent 'NCIS Superstar' status and use the most expensive services on the market; it was absurd to ask for First-Class plane tickets and a luxury moving van since Tim was, first and foremost, a public servant (who happened to host a ten-tons brains inside his skull). Doubtless Vance would appreciate the effort, as budget meetings were the bane of the Director's existence.

Tim had also given his notice to vacate his flat to Mrs. Miller, but it had ended with a major scene: the landlady had showed up on Tim's doorstep in tears, fearing that one of her best tenants was leaving out of her son's burglary attempt. Mrs. Miller had been so upset by the thought that the young man had invited her in for coffee and comforting, stating that his departure was not due to Nick's stupidity but to a professional transfer. Tim would regret to leave the building, as he had been very happy living here and had made great friends with his neighbors. However, the complaint against Nick Miller was maintained and Mr. Rosetti, Tim's attorney, would represent his client's interests in his absence during the trial scheduled in a few weeks. Sarah, as the main eyewitness, would testify in court and the young woman was ready to paint a most accurate portrait of Nick, including his foul language and threatening behavior towards the woman who had caught him red-handed stealing her brother's personal belongings.

Mr. Rosetti had informed his client that Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs had also agreed to testify and that piece of news had been surprising, to say the least. Considering his strained relationship with his Boss and the current bad state of Team Gibbs, Tim had supposed the ex-Marine would be too busy consoling Tony and Abby to bother with the trial of a teenager who had burglarized his second-class Agent's flat twice… not to forget the first attempt had been praised loud and clear by his Senior Agent.

Tim had imagined in a bout of bitterness that Gibbs would try to avoid testifying since Tony had been overly friendly with Nick and it would probably be used by the teenager's attorney in an effort to minimize the offence – in the lines of: _"Your Honor, NCIS Agent Tony DiNozzo actually approved of my client's actions during the first burglary. Nick has then assumed stealing from Federal Agents' properties was backed by some of our government's employees, prompting him to recidivate. The blame should not be placed upon my client's shoulders, but on the Federal Agent's who has instilled such devious ideas in his easily influenced mind."_ And Tim had pictured Gibbs doing everything in his power to save Tony from an accusation of bad influence, including blaming Tim for having left the country in the first place!

But then, Tim had scolded himself for having being unjust towards Gibbs, even only in imagination: as insufferable as the silver-haired man was, he could hardly be accused of obstructing the law just to save Tony's reputation. Gibbs was more the kind to growl and glare at the bar, prompting attorneys to finish the interview as soon as possible, cutting short accusations against his adopted son and heir. Nevertheless, Tim had been surprised that his Boss would actually take some of his precious time to testify against Nick Miller – and, to be true, it had soothed his heart a bit.

Mrs. Miller had sobbed in her handkerchief at the recollection of her having to visit Nick in Juvenile Hall, and Jet had considered with rounded eyes the small female human making so much noise in their shared territory. She had told about her son being malevolent as ever, bragging about his talents as a burglar and how he considered a professional thieving career once he would reach the age of majority. Nick had not showed a bit of remorse and he had spent his time at Juvenile Hall bragging to his fellow inmates that the charges against him would be dropped as soon as the news of Tim's demise in Afghanistan would reach his attorney's ears. Nick had even gloated over the idea of watching McGee being murdered by terrorists in a video posted on the Internet!

The poor woman had wondered out loud what she have possibly done wrong in raising Nick but Tim had stopped her self-accusations with kind, but firm words: Mrs. Miller was a good person who had done her best for her son. It was not her fault whatsoever if Nick was a natural-born hypocrite, constantly using his father's desertion as pretext to justify his dishonesty – the teenager was the kind to blame everything and everyone for whatever happened in his life, without realizing he was nothing but a coward. At sixteen years of age, Nick could not pretend any longer being an innocent boy unaware that breaking and entering a private property to steal goods was a felony sanctioned by law. To quote the legal principle, _"__Ignorantia juris non excusat"_ and besides, any five-year-old child in Kindergarten learnt that stealing other people's belongings was utterly wrong. Nick had been sanctioned in the past for his actions but instead of becoming a better person, he had fueled his anger, vanity and stubbornness to the point that he considered stealing from Tim again would be the only way to regain his honor as a thief. Too bad Nick had to learn the hard way that he was only a fool…

But apart from Mrs. Miller, not to forget Sarah, Ducky and Jimmy, McGee had not had other visits at his place since his return from Afghanistan. Of course, he knew that Director Vance had forbidden the rest of Team Gibbs to contact him – something Doctor Turner had approved entirely: Tim was still shaken from his war experiences and the last thing he needed for the moment was a visit from accusing soon-to-be former teammates who could not see past their own noses.

The young man had phoned his parents to inform them of his safe return and his upcoming move to Los Angeles, but they had been out of the house at the time of his call; he had left a message on their voicemail but neither Admiral nor Mrs. McGee had deigned to phone back. It had hurt, and Tim had poured his aching heart out to Doctor Turner about it; she had been of an invaluable help by providing him reassurances and advice. His parents were like Nick Miller, Doctor Turner had said: they were incapable to admit their shortcomings until Real Life would rub their faces in the mud – so let Real Life do the job. Do not waste your time trying to make them see the light: they have decided to remain obtuse after having sired a son above their intellect and they were not the sort of persons to take kindly to disadvantage.

Funny thing was, Penny had told her grandson exactly the same thing over the phone: the old lady was still in Australia but she called every two days to make sure Tim was all right, nearly bankrupting herself in the process. She encouraged him to focus on his career, citing the Confucius quote _"__The will to win, the desire to succeed, the urge to reach full potential are the keys that will unlock the door to personal excellence"_. She was glad Tim had taken the first steps to move to L.A. where she was certain a bright future awaited him – and not only because of sunlight, had the old lady said with laugher in her voice.

Tim, sitting at his desk at home, smiled at the recollection of his latest conversation with his grandmother. Ziva would have told him the same thing if she had been present!

_Ziva…_

The souvenir of the beautiful ex-Mossad made Tim's eyes shine for a moment. She had not been allowed to contact him either – no letters, e-mails, text messages, visits allowed – and she knew better than to oppose Vance for the time being. Ziva had barely escaped being expelled from NCIS and sent back to Tel-Aviv in disgrace; a long lecture within the Director's office walls had seem a walk in the park in comparison but, unlike Abby, Ziva knew when not to push her luck. She was quite aware that the slightest misstep could prove to be her last and no one, not even Tim, would have been able to get her off the hook. So the Israeli woman had to accept Vance's drastic conditions to remain at NCIS, even though it broke her heart but not a day had passed without McGee thinking about her. The Dark Dove had faithfully remained under his shirt, held by a new sheath and whenever Tim thought about Ziva, he would unconsciously caress the weapon hidden beneath his clothing.

Tim sighed deeply and then, his green gaze fell on the empty cardboard boxes placed on the living-room's floor. If there was an omen for a moving, it would be cardboard boxes! The young man had collected them during his latest trip at the supermarket – right after he had dropped his tuxedo at the cleaners' in anticipation of Jimmy's wedding – and he would soon fill them with books for charities. He had always been very meticulous with his personal library and doubtless there would be people very happy to acquire new novels and mysteries in good shape. Jet was out with Mike the dog-walker and Tim had decided to use the free time to pack up the books: Jet would not be underfoot and the sooner his master would sort out things for charities, the better.

Resolutely, the young man picked up an armful of novels from the shelves, titles that he did not read anymore but was certain it would interest an audience. He knelt in front of a cardboard box with the intention to stack the books inside it…

When suddenly, his doorbell rang!

Startled, Tim dropped his burden on the floor; his heart started to beat loudly as his mind reeled with the possibilities of who the visitor could be.

_Was it Jimmy? Or Ducky?_

No, since both M.E. would be working at the NCIS' morgue by this hour of day.

_Sarah, then?_

Again, it was not possible. Sarah was teaching every weekday and she would never go to her brother's place without sending a text beforehand.

Members of Team Gibbs were ruled out – including Ziva, much to Tim's chagrin – and Director Vance would hardly come over unannounced. Mrs. Miller would gain nothing by visiting again as she knew her tenant would not withdraw his complaint against Nick. He had already met Mr. Rosetti in his North Capitol Street office to talk about the trial; Penny would remain in Australia for the next couple of months and Andy probably had his nose buried in accounting papers. So, who could it be?

Then, a wild hope blossomed inside McGee's heart: maybe it was his parents? Maybe they had finally understood the hurtfulness of their actions and decided to come over, in an attempt to reconcile with their son! Smiling widely at the thought, Tim got on his feet and rushed to the door, inwardly grateful for Jet's absence as the dog would have scared the visitors off with his loud barking.

But then, Tim felt the Dark Dove pressing against his ribs and his hand froze at an inch of the knob; the knife's presence was a sharp reminder that he had been in a war zone and ought to know better than to open his door in a scatterbrained way, without taking the precaution of checking who was standing outside. Patting the right side of his blue shirt, Tim slowed down and looked through the fisheye lens of the front door's peephole.

The sight that greeted him turned his blood into ice.

**ABBY!**

For an instant, Tim thought he had lost his mind; why on Earth would the Goth woman show up on his doormat? They had departed in less-than-amicable conditions the day of his debriefing with Director Vance, after Abby had tried to charge him with assault and battery when he had dared to remove her out of his way – not the forget the numerous accusations of Tony-molestation and dog-molestation she had thrown at his face, plus the jealous scene she had served him after having heard about Aimee. Abby had acted like the poster child for imbecility and she had been very close being kicked out of NCIS in disgrace, too; only Tim's statement about nothing of importance had stopped Vance from firing the Lab Rat but the young man sincerely doubted Abby had come to apologize and thank him from having saved her neck.

McGee pressed his lips against one another, inwardly furious by this unwelcome visitor. Abby had transgressed Vance's direct orders and it could only spell trouble – not only for her, since NCIS' DV (Designated Volcano) would explode at the news the Lab Rat had made a mockery of his orders again, but also for Gibbs (for having failed to keep Abby under control), Tony (idem) and Ziva (ditto). It could spell the permanent dissolution of Team Gibbs with the ex-Marine being forced to resign, Tony being sent to a remote office in Alaska and Ziva returning to her homeland.

Tim looked through the peephole again and indeed, it was Abby standing in the corridor door, in all her Goth glory and with a knowing smile on her face.

The young man weighted his options:

A) He could remain quiet and give the impression of not being home, or

B) He could open his door and endure what Abby had to say.

However, Plan A had three major flaws:

1) Tim was no coward and he loathed the idea of hiding in his flat.

2) Abby could make a racket by continuously ringing his doorbell, disturbing the elderly neighbors who would come out of their homes to investigate the source of the noise.

3) Jet would be back from his walk with Mike soon and Tim did not want Abby to see his dog.

So, Plan B was to be applied.

Tim let out an exasperated sigh and reached out for the doorknob, taking comfort in the presence of the Dark Dove under his shirt. He would cut off his left hand before using the weapon against Abby or another woman for that matter, but he felt stronger just by knowing Ziva's gift against his skin.

The front door turned on its hinges and Tim asked without preamble:

"What do you want, Abby?"

"**TIMMY!"** squealed the Lab Rat in glee. She opened her arms wide for one of her trademark octopus-like hugs but McGee held up his hand in a stopping gesture.

"Don't do that."

"Don't do what? I just want to hug you! Look, Timmy, I've brought things to celebrate your return from Afghanistan!"

The young man looked down and saw a brown grocery bag placed next to his doormat; from all he could see, the bag had been stuffed with junk food: giant Cheesy Wiz chips, a big pack of NutterButter cookies, a supersized bottle of Caf-Pow, candy bars filled with caramel and a box of large pizzas to be heated up in micro-wave ovens… Exactly the kind of food Tim had overindulged on while staying glued to his computer screens night and day, resulting in a weight gain and an avalanche of mockeries from Tony.

"See? I have all we need for a welcome-back party!" said an exuberant Abby. "We're going to have a great time, the three of us!"

"The three of us?"

"Yeah! Me, you and Jethro! Oh, sure, it would have been better if the whole gang could have come over but you'll have to satisfy yourself with my modest person and your dog for the time being, until Vance will get off our backs and go back to his office where he belongs."

"I've stopped eating junk food a long time ago, Abby."

"So what? You need to fat up a little on good, solid American food after all those months you've spent abroad!"

"No, I don't. Now, what do you want?"

Tim's icy tone set Abby off-tracks and, for a few seconds, she feared that her Perfect Plan had been ruined before it had even started. She had taken a big risk in going to McGee's flat – in fact, it could spell her professional doom since Vance seemed to be absurdly set-up on being obeyed those days, even though instructions had never applied to Gibbs' favorite. She had remained at the Lab from sunrise to sunset until that creep Peterson had announced it was her turn to buy supplies. Abby had accepted the chore right away since it was a good pretext to get out of NCIS without raising the alarm, and while driving she had elaborated a Perfect Plan to make McGee feel guilty and beg for her forgiveness. Abby had bought the junk food her former lover enjoyed so much and then she had entered his building right after a small woman with red-rimmed eyes had opened the main entrance's door – she was obviously crying but she had been too upset to notice the Goth and Abby was too focused on her Perfect Plan to be distracted by the woman's grief.

Nothing was more important than to make Tim admitting everything that had happened had been his fault in the first place and Abby knew how to reach her goal: simply by stuffing McGee with over-salted and over-sweetened food, then turning on the waterworks about her current situation just before stating she had been extremely upset by his departure for a war zone, prompting her to say things that had led to a major misunderstanding. Abby had used this ruse many times in the past so there was no reason why it should fail! Filled with guilt and softened by junk food, Tim would have no other choice than to admit her degree of desperation, the best proof being her disobedience to Vance's orders to have a chance to talk with him – and, if Abby played her cards right, she could even coax McGee to plead to Vance on her behalf, and have all her misdemeanors erased from her record.

However, McGee had not been responsive to Abby's enthusiastic greetings and it worried her a bit. Maybe Tim's statement about having been toughened in Afghanistan was not swashbuckling bravado, after all? Nah, that was impossible, it could only be an act. She knew the man's weaknesses by heart; he had been her lover and her lackey, for crying out loud! She quickly gathered her wits, put on her sweetest smile and said:

"Timmy, what I want more than everything is to celebrate your safe return! Look, I know you're upset for the scene I caused the other day at the bullpen and I'm very sorry for my behavior. That's why I came in spite of Vance's interdictions, to make amends as I cannot stand the thought of you being angry with me. Of course, I know you won't hold a grudge against me for long but it would be hard to reconcile if we couldn't meet face-to-face, right? So I thought I'd come over, Vance's orders be damned, and then we'd forgive one another and have a great time at your place with food and drinks. I've even bought chocolate treats for Jethro! By the way, where is he? Isn't he going to greet his best friend Abby?"

The Lab Rat tried to take a peek at the flat over Tim's shoulder but the young man never moved from his spot, so the woman started calling in a shrilling sing-song voice:

"Jethro, where are you, sweetie? Good doggy, come to Abby! I have some chocolate for you!"

"That's quite enough, Abby! Stop making such a racket, you'll disturb the neighbors!" exclaimed Tim, unaware that the door of Mrs. Bergman's apartment was slowly opening and remained ajar, secured by a chain attached to the door frame.

"Oh, who cares about them? The only thing that's important is for us to have a party! Your neighbors can go to an old folks' home if they cannot enjoy a bit of noise. So now, move aside so I can step in and prepare the food for the three of us – nothing but the best for my Timmy and my Jethro!"

Tim considered the woman with a mix of stupefaction and loathing. He hated the comments Abby had made about his neighbors and he could hardly believe she actually had the nerve to show up on his doorstep with junk food, pretending to make peace whereas McGee was perfectly aware it was nothing but a sham. At the image of her surrogate father, Abby would never admit her wrongs and the young man was ready to bet ten-to-one that the Goth had a hidden agenda.

The Dark Dove moved beneath the blue shirt, prompting Tim to block the door by using his body like a shield. He would be damned before he would let Abby step inside his _inner sanctum_ and make her usual bulldozer act!

"No."

"But, Timmy…"

"I said, NO! And stop calling me Timmy, I ceased to be a child years ago. Now tell me what you really want and don't waste my time with your tall tales about wanting to celebrate my return."

"But I do want to…"

"Stop taking me for a fool! In case you haven't noticed, the 'abusing-Tim' days are over. Tony has learned it at his expense, so did Gibbs and you will end up at the employment line if you fail to acquire this truism. And for your information, I hate junk food! Now, and for the last time, **what is it that you really want?**"

Abby blinked repetitively, unsure by this sudden turn of events. McGee hated junk food? Since when?

"W-What do you mean? I've bought all those goodies especially for you!"

"You've wasted your money and my time, Abby – and you'd better return to NCIS before it's too late. Your presence here is a blatant transgression of Vance's direct orders and if you get caught you won't get out of this mess scot-free, not even if you cry a river on Gibbs' shoulder. Then again, maybe that's the reason why you came here in the first place?" asked Tim, his eyes narrowing as his brains were providing him with the answer. "Let me guess, Gibbs' protection has gotten fallible and you've been looking all around for another dupe to help you keep your job; and who could be better than quickly-forgiving, easy-to-manipulate Timmy, hmm?"

"But…"

"After all, if I plead your cause to Vance, then he has no reason to launch disciplinary actions against you. Bullies are best defended by their victims, after all."

"No, no! I didn't come here to…"

"Get out of here, Abby. I don't want you in my flat; I don't want to eat with you; I don't want to listen to your sobbing and crying and the usual deafening techniques you employ so much. I can see right through you and these so-called peace offerings are nothing but a ridiculous attempt to make me feel guilty over things I haven't done, so I'd rush to NCIS and convince Vance that you cannot be held responsible for your actions, since I was the main cause of all your troubles from the very beginning. Well, guess what? Your great plan has spectacularly failed, Abigail Sciuto!"

"Oh!" exclaimed a startled Abby, both surprised and furious to have been unmasked so quickly.

"Did you really think a few candy bars would make me forget the hateful things you've said in the bullpen about my lady-love?" shouted Tim, getting more and more furious by the minute at the Goth woman's nerve. Beneath his shirt, the Dark Dove was repetitively poking at his ribs. "Are you actually so full of yourself that you thought you could just waltz in and make your crybaby number so I'd rush to your aid, just like in the past where you manipulated me at will? Gosh, you're such a bad actress, it's pathetic!"

"**How dare you?"** shouted Abby back, smashing to smithereens her Perfect Plan in the process. "I came here out of the goodness of my heart to make peace with you, risking my job and my career in the process and you throw it all back to my face like an ungrateful jerk? But what has happened to you, Timothy McGee? Don't you recognize your friends anymore?"

"You've never been a friend, Abigail Sciuto. You're a narcissist with eccentric tastes in clothes and music and it may have been funny to watch you do your 'Poor-little-girl-that-constantly-needs-protection' number in the past, but now you're nothing more than a pest polluting the lives of your entourage. Who in the world do you think you are, some kind of a Cosette character in Goth clothes? Well, newsflash for you, Sciuto: in the novel, Cosette grows up, matures, and take in charge her own life. Unlike you, she doesn't stay glued to her adoptive father. She doesn't run to him at the first sign of trouble. She doesn't use him as her bodyguard to chase away the people she has pissed!"

"**I am not a Cosette! I'm the best forensic scientist of NCIS and I can stand on my own two feet! I've been an independent woman since the day I've turned 18!"**

"Oh, yeah? Then, what prompted you to come here? And please, don't give me that laughable excuse of the goodness of your heart since you never do anything for free. The dragon's wings have earned a few holes lately and you've been in the doghouse too many times for comfort, so now you're grasping at the souvenir of the former Tim McGee to get you out of trouble – the kid who would have done anything within his power to please you, in the hopes you'd become his wife one day. Well, it's too late, Sciuto: that kid died years ago and you've been too stupid to realize it. To be precise, he died on the day a German shepherd attacked him and you called him a murderer to his face, simply because he defended his life against a drugged dog."

"Jethro!" exclaimed Abby. "Where is he? Let me come inside, I wanna see him!"

Tim had a bitter smile; some things truly never change…

"Forget it, Abby."

"I WANNA SEE JETHRO **NOW**! I HAVE TREATS FOR HIM!"

"Chocolate is bad for dogs. As the Queen of Human Society, you should know better! And there's no way in Hell I'll let you feed poison to my dog so pack up your junk food, your pitiful attempts to earn my pity, and hit the road. You've been here way too long for my tastes and I'm seriously considering kicking your pierced posterior all the way down the stairs."

"**You wouldn't dare! Gibbs will kill you!"**

"Wanna bet?"

Abby gritted her teeth, and then she started jumping up and down for a chance to get a glimpse of Jet inside the flat. But no matter how high she jumped, she could see nothing over Tim's shoulder than the furniture.

"**Where's Jethro? Bring him to me! You don't have the right to prevent me from seeing him!"**

"My patience is running thin, Sciuto! Get out of here and don't come back if you know what's good for you."

"**JETHRO!"**

"Stop that stupid yelling! Besides, Jet's not here."

Abby stopped her struggles at that piece of flooring news. Jethro was not in the flat?

"W-What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I've said."

"So where is he?"

"Need to know, Sciuto – and you don't. Now, clear off!"

Tim slammed the door at Abby's face, leaving the Goth woman alone in the corridor, looking ridiculous standing on a doormat next to a grocery bag filled with hyper-caloric food. But her expression quickly changed from defeated to belligerent as her mind reeled with revenge plans.

_McGee had rejected her peace offerings and that was inadmissible. Nobody said _"No"_ to Abigail Sciuto!_

_He had dared to refuse helping her in salvaging her career. He would not try to convince Vance of her innocence!_

_And Jethro… What had Tim done to him? The dog was not at the flat, so where could he be? At the vet's, in a kennel?_

_Or maybe the dog has been locked up in the basement, and he was waiting for Tim to do his brainwashing experiments on him again?_

Out of rage, Abby kicked at the grocery bag; the bag of Cheesy Wiz chips was torn open under the impact and a burst of thin potato slices fell on the ground, along with grains of salt and powdered cheese. Abby stomped on the bag again and again, crushing the cookies, candy bars and pizzas under her platform boots, making a sticky salt-and-sugar mess on the corridor's floor. There! Score one for Abby! McGee could clean the whole stuff up, since he was so concerned about his elderly neighbors. Eventually, she kicked around the bottle of her favorite drink before heading for the elevator, more resolute than ever to tear Jethro from out of McGee clutches. She would save that poor dog at all costs, even if it would be the last thing she would do!

But for the time being, she had to return to NCIS at all speed: doubtless Peterson would report her to Vance if she were one minute late for work. But that nosey-parker would get what he deserved, just like McGee. Just they wait…

Lost in her dreams of revenge, Abby failed to notice the no-nonsense eyes of an old lady watching her from the space between her flat's door and its frame.

TBC…


	87. A union

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- The wedding of Jimmy and Breena is based on my souvenirs of a friend's wedding which occurred in DC in 1998. I apologize for any inaccuracies.

- The _"__Wedding March__"_ in C major, written in 1842 by Jakob Ludwig Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy (1809 – 1847), is one of the most frequently used wedding marches, generally being played on a church pipe organ (from Wikipedia).

- "_Parade's End_" is a tetralogy written by English novelist and poet Ford Madox Ford, born Ford Hermann Hueffer (1873 – 1939), and published between 1924 and 1928 (from Wikipedia).

- "_Runaway Bride"_ is a 1999 American romantic comedy film, starring Julia Roberts and Richard Gere.

- Morticia Addams is the matriarch of "The Addams Family", created by cartoonist Charles Addams (1912 – 1988)

- To MarkyV: thank you for your message, and please give my best regards to your friends Toby and Scott. I think this chapter will answer question no. 2!

- To Reddragen: thank you so much for your constant support of this story!

- To Guest: there will be an update every Saturday. Enjoy!

- To Corala: Gibbs and Vance will find out what Abby had done… thanks to the intervention of a neighbor.

- To jerseybelle: you seem to like this story! xD

- To KaneWhore2589: the graduation was indeed a great event, and the first one I've ever participated to!

- To Guest: please keep on reading, you'll see what happens to Abby!

- To Guest: the McGiva is imminent…

- To None: Men in white coats? I was rather thinking Boys in Blue…

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 86: A union<strong>

_One week later…_

Today was Jimmy and Breena's wedding day, and Timothy McGee was at his post near the church's altar, feeling flattered, nervous and sad at the same time.

Flattered, as he considered it a great honor to be Jimmy's Best Man. James Palmer was a good guy who had worked his way through Medical School, spent countless hours seated behind a desk reading textbooks before rushing to the university's morgue to earn the needed money to pursue his studies. Jimmy had taken the worst chores, like sweeping up blood on the morgue's tiles, washing the corpses and preparing them for dissection without a word of complaint (even though he had had nightmares for months about cadavers running after him). Later, Jimmy had found a job at NCIS and he had learned the ropes of autopsy under Ducky's patient tutelage. To hide the fact he was still having nightmares, Jimmy had stuck to a _'happy-go-lucky'_ personality, pretending to be cheerful all the time and not be impressed by violence all – but the old M.E. had not been fooled. He had seen right through his assistant's pretence and had taught him to master his emotions and to not shiver at the sight of severed members or heads. Ducky had also scolded Jimmy one or two times when his young assistant had shown disrespect towards the dead, in the lines of having sex with former girlfriend Michelle Lee in the coroner's van or making inappropriate comments about murder victims.

Over the years, Jimmy had matured to become his own man – it had provoked a few incidents of course, like refusing to leave the morgue when Gibbs politely asked him to _'get lost'_ or after Jimmy had dared to comment Abby's behavior at the workplace. But the steadfast support of Ducky added to Breena's love had toughened Jimmy to the point that he had dared to tell off his insufferable future father-in-law, Ed Slater, much to the man's astonishment! Jimmy had grown to become a great M.E. and Ducky's worthy successor, and Tim was happy to witness the happiest day of his friend's life.

McGee also felt nervous, since he had to give a toast during dinner and he feared what the reactions of the audience would be. He had learned his toast by heart so he would not be bothered by wrinkled notes stuffed in his tuxedo jacket's pocket, and he had made it short and sweet so the guests would not grow impatient. Tim had been at weddings in the past and there was nothing worse than sitting at a table waiting for the Best Man's interminable speech to end so the guests could carry on with eating and drinking. Even jokes or great childhood stories could fall flat when people were bored, and Tim wanted Jimmy and Breena's families and friends to have a good time at the event. Nonetheless, he was still concerned about how his performance would be received – not to forget that Gibbs, Ziva, Abby and Tony would be in the audience. Jimmy had apologized but, as a fellow NCIS employee and a member of Team Gibbs, he simply could not bar them from attending the wedding. McGee had waved away the apology, stating that his current strained relationship with his teammates was his problem and not Jimmy's – besides, Director Leon Vance would also be here as well and he would keep Gibbs, Tony and Abby under control to prevent them from making a scandal at the church or during dinner.

Thinking about Team Gibbs made McGee think about Ziva, and this time he felt a wave of sadness rolling over him. He would have loved to see her but Vance and Doctor Turner had been strict about the subject: no contacts with his former teammates. Tim had asked Doctor Turner if talking to Ziva could be considered as part of his therapy, just like he had done at ISAF but the psychologist had said that seeing the ex-Mossad could awaken painful memories and the trauma of being kidnapped and tortured was too fresh: he could feel irritated, impatient and lash out at his colleague, only to be filled with guilt and remorse afterwards, even a risk to enter depression. Tim had protested, stating that Ziva had been of a tremendous moral help in Afghanistan but Doctor Turner had stood her ground. In the end, the young man had relented against his heart, even though he knew deep down that she had been right. Seeing Ziva would inevitably make him think of Aimee, and…

Tim looked at the church's aisle with the pews decorated with white flowers and ribbons, the glittering candles, the stained-glass windows illuminated by the sun; guests happily chatting away, Jimmy in his tuxedo exchanging a few words with his parents and Ducky at the front row, the vicar with Bible in hand, the organist getting ready to play the wedding march, the giggling bridesmaids, all of them waiting for the upcoming entrance of the bride at the arm of her father…

_Flowers, music, love everywhere… Everything Aimee would have deserved…_

But Aimee was not there. She would never be a bride. She was gone in the prime of her life, and she would never enlighten the world with her smile again.

A traitorous tear escaped from his green eyes; Tim slipped a hand in his vest's pocket, looking for a paper tissue (he had brought a pack in case if Aimee's souvenir would be too hard to endure) and his fingers bumped into the small velvety box containing the rings. Jimmy had dropped it at Tim's flat a week ago and the young man had kept the box in his tux right after it had been picked up at the cleaner's, but he had avoided looking at the rings. He had asked Doctor Turner if attending the wedding was such a good idea, considering his current's broken heart, but she had insisted that it would do him good. Witnessing the love shared between Jimmy and Breena would give Tim hope for the future, where his thoughts and dreams would stop being haunted by dreadful souvenirs so he could re-build his life. She had even advised him to read the novel _'Parade's End'_ and Tim had complied, even if he could not see the link between the hero, Christopher Tietjens, and his own situation so far. Then again, he had not finished the book yet so he could hardly build an opinion.

"All right, Tim?" asked a voice nearby and McGee turned around to see Jimmy in a tux sporting a beautiful boutonnière and looking as jumpy as a jackrabbit.

McGee gave a reassuring smile, hoping Jimmy would not see the tear track on his face:

"Everything's fine, buddy. The church is beautiful, all the persons who love you and Breena are ready to cheer and I haven't forgotten the rings."

"I'm not worried about that!" exclaimed the groom. "I know I can count on you for important matters."

"How about you, are you okay?"

"I'm scared half to death, nervous enough to climb the church's walls with my bare hands, wanting to scream out loud and run for help, impatient like crazy to see Breena and craving for a cup of Doctor Mallard's chamomile tea; but other than that, I feel fine!"

McGee had a hard time to suppress a laugh: "You've just resumed cold feet's symptoms, Jimmy. Be assured that Breena feels the same right now, but you will calm down as soon as you'll see her walk down the aisle in a fairytale dress."

"She's my Princess all right, and I'm still amazed she has chosen me of all people to be her Knight in shining armor."

"Why on Earth wouldn't she have chosen you? You're a good Medical Doctor, a courageous NCIS employee and, above everything, you're a great man with a heart of gold. Breena loves you more than anything and she's overjoyed at the thought of becoming Mrs. Palmer. Please stop worrying, Jimmy: Breena is not the kind of uncaring woman to leave you heartbroken at the altar, as if we were in a lousy remake of the_ 'Runaway bride'_ movie. And you are more than a knight: you're her Prince Charming and don't you forget it!"

"Thanks, Tim."

"I mean it, Jimmy."

"I know, and that's why I thank you. You're the most sincere person in the world."

The two men exchanged a smile, and then Jimmy was asked a question by the vicar, leaving Tim to glance around at the audience. Ducky waved at him from his seat next to Jimmy's father, and the young man answered likewise. Mrs. Palmer was smiling and dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief at the same time, consoled by her husband who was trying very hard to hide his emotion. The usher had finished guiding the guests to their respective pews; the organist was playing a background melody; some people were checking the hymns' program and a mother was trying to calm down her toddler, but to no avail. Tim raised his eyes and saw that his soon-to-be former teammates had been seated at the left side of the aisle, in the middle of the tenth pew – close enough to see the wedding but at a safe distance from the altar, probably in an effort to keep McGee away from Gibbs' and Abby's ire.

Silently thanking Jimmy for his thoughtfulness, Tim noted that Tony was busy flirting with a woman seated next to him; Abby, her pigtails embellished with white ribbons, was glaring at McGee as if she wanted to skin him alive; Gibbs, stone-faced as usual, had his hand on Abby's shoulder in a calming gesture while his blue glare was fixed on the Best Man.

"_Nice to see some things never change,"_ thought Tim somberly. He had not reported Abby's visit to Vance; it would have been a waste of time, since he had no witnesses and could not prove his allegations. Vance would have trusted his word but doubtless Abby would have fought tooth and nails any accusation coming from McGee. Besides, she was already in deep trouble with Peterson's complaint; Tim knew that a word from him could spell her doom and his gentlemanly nature was revolted at the thought of inflicting a professional _coup de grâce_ against a downed woman.

So Tim had cleaned up the mess Abby had left on the hallway, sighing at such a display of childish meanness and thanking his lucky stars that his next-door neighbors had not heard the Lab Rat's ramblings on his doormat – Mr. Taylor was deaf as a post, Miss Adams was away from DC on business and Mrs. Bergman was probably shopping at the nearest gardening center. The old lady had cried in joy after receiving the Lady Tulips' bulbs and the Pontic Rhododendron's seeds Tim had brought her from Afghanistan, and she had been looking forwards to buy new pots to grow McGee's presents.

The young man suddenly realized with a start Ziva's absence. The Israeli woman was not with the rest of Team Gibbs; neither was she with Director Vance and his wife Jacky (both seated at the right side of the aisle). Jimmy would certainly have not forgotten to invite her, and Vance would not be crossed with the ex-Mossad to the point of forbidding her from attending the wedding – experience had taught him that Ziva would go anywhere she wanted, even unauthorized. So, where could she be?

At the same moment, the first notes of Mendelssohn's _Wedding March_ rang out under the church's arched ceiling and all the guests stood up in a same movement to look in the direction of the main gate: Breena was there in a fairytale dress, crowned with flowers and holding a beautiful bouquet, calmly watching the crowd under a tulle veil while her father was leading her to the altar.

Tim took the box containing the rings from his pocket and his Best Man's duties made him temporarily forget to investigate about Ziva's whereabouts.

* * *

><p>A few hours later, the wedding party at the restaurant was in full swing. The guests had loosened up after having consumed delicious food and drinks, and the music played by the hired DJ was prompting them to hit the dance floor with a lot of enthusiasm – after a radiant Jimmy and Breena had waltzed a bit awkwardly for the First Dance, but with their eyes devouring one another. The toast had been a huge success, saluted by thunderous applause and Jimmy had hugged his Best Man out of gratitude, much to Breena's amusement. Tim had been tremendously happy that his speech had been so well received but, just as he was sitting down his eyes had caught the slim silhouette of a dark-haired woman in a red evening gown, seated at Team Gibbs' table. His heart had skipped a beat after he had recognized the woman, both out of sheer relief and unmasked admiration.<p>

_Ziva!_

It was indeed the ex-Mossad officer, and she looked simply gorgeous. Her hair had been done in an elegant French twist and maintained in place with rhinestone barrettes. She was wearing elaborate make-up, her long neck was adorned with a diamond necklace and the color of her dress was flattering her olive skin. She had a small handbag made of silvery cloth and her high-heeled shoes enhanced her sculpted legs. Ziva looked every inch an exotic beauty and Tim found himself staring at her; of course, he had seen Ziva being dressed to the nines before – like during that case where she had played the part of a cabaret singer as bait to entrap the culprit, and how she had surprised everyone with her nice voice and ease on stage – but this time, it was different. Ziva looked as if she had dressed for the occasion of Jimmy's wedding and also to impress someone… But who?

Anyway, the Israeli woman was simply outstanding and Tim briefly regretted not being seated at her table – but one look at Abby's furious face made him quickly change his mind. The people seated next to her table were rolling their eyes at the Lab Rat's tight-fitting black dress which looked like a hand-me-down from Morticia Addams, the ghostly glow of make-up around her eyes, the incongruous platform boots and the metallic necklace with a human skull hanging between her breasts. The white ribbons in her pigtails added to the ridicule and she acted like she was offended by Ziva's gorgeousness. Only Gibbs' authoritative presence stopped the two women from going at each other's throats and it was a good thing too, since Tim was ready to bet Ziva had a knife or two hidden in her handbag (just like the Dark Dove was tucked under his tux's jacket).

As for Tony, he was too busy charming the woman spotted earlier at the church and Tim realized it was Amanda, who worked at NCIS' accounting department. McGee had not seen her for a long time and he wondered if her interest towards DiNozzo was fueled by the champagne the woman guzzled greedily. Vance was seated across the room and his gaze was fixed on Team Gibbs' table; judging from the toothpick he was munching on, the Director looked ready to step in at the first sign of trouble!

The bride and the groom were going from table to table, asking their guests if they were enjoying the party and thanking them for their presence. Tim looked at Ziva right at the moment when the woman was turning her head towards him. She smiled at McGee, who instantaneously blushed, staggered on his long legs, and then inwardly called himself a fool and a betrayer.

_How dare could he look at another woman? _

_How dare could he dismiss Aimee's memory so easily, did she mean nothing to him?_

_Who was he, some kind of a revolting philanderer? _

_For all his great talks, was Timothy McGee only a self-centered person only concerned by his navel?_

Furious, Tim got on his feet and stormed out of the reception's room, ignoring the curious stares of people wondering where the Best Man was going in such a hurry. He walked until he found the door leading to the restaurant's garden, opened it and was greeted by a gush of fresh night air. The sun had set a few hours ago and the ink-black sky was peppered with scintillating stars, just like the times when Tim had watched them at ISAF's courtyard and wondered what was happening at home. The restaurant's garden was beautiful with trees in bloom and rose bushes; the lapping of a fountain could be heard in the background, the air was filled with perfumes and the regular sound of chirping insects gave an impression of serenity, of peacefulness – exactly what Tim needed to soothe his aching soul.

He sat down on a sculpted wooden bench and closed his eyes, trying to unwind from the stress of his Best Man's duties and the unwanted presence of Team Gibbs at the wedding. After a moment, McGee heard something moving and his eyes snapped open, instantly on the alert while his left hand crept under his jacket.

"Timothy?"

The young man let out a huge sigh: thanks goodness, it was Ducky!

"Ducky! I almost didn't hear you coming."

"Ah, an old soldier always have a trick or two up his sleeve, regardless of the number of years he bears on his shoulders," said the M.E. with a smile. "I grew tired of the music and the noise so a bit of fresh air will do me good – I don't have the endurance for long parties any more, but I don't want to bother young Doctor Palmer on his wedding day so I've made my escape right after you've bolted from the reception. I couldn't help but notice you looked a bit upset, Timothy, and I wanted to know how you were faring."

McGee's first reflex was to lie, to say everything was fine and Ducky had been mislead by the lights of the party, but he dismissed the idea in a flash. Who was he trying to kid? This was Doctor Donald Mallard, a man with a mind as sharp as a scalpel and with enough war experience to fill up a volume as thick as a phone book. The young man had not a chance in Hell to bluff him and denying he was upset would be nothing but a waste of time.

"It's… It's a great wedding, isn't it?"

"I daresay it is, Timothy. It pleases my old heart to see Doctor Palmer and his glowing bride so happy, and they have spoiled us with excellent food and the most delicious champagne. I am so proud of my former assistant. He has worked very hard to reach his goals and it is only justice to watch him reap his just rewards."

"A great wedding, with beautiful guests…"

"That is also correct. It was nice to see people had made an extra effort to look their best in Doctor and Mrs. Palmer's honor – maybe with the notable exception of Abigail, who always has the strangest conceptions of elegance. Her outfit has made a few ladies laugh and say they should call in the Fashion Police."

"What about the rest of the team?"

"Well, the last time I've seen Anthony, he was absolutely captivated by a lady named Amanda he has met at the church. I've overheard him suggesting leaving this 'boring banquet' to improvise a private party in a hotel's room and the young lady seemed flattered by Anthony's attentions. Abigail is furious from the disapproving looks she has been receiving all day from the other guests so she is stating loud enough for the whole reception room to hear that without her help, Dr. Palmer and Breena would never have been allowed to marry."

"How so?" asked a stunned Tim.

"Apparently, Abigail was referring to the time when you and the rest of the team were out in the field on Christmas Eve, protecting the pregnant companion of a murdered Navy Captain. She had locked up Dr. Palmer and Mr. Slater in her office so they would sort out their differences and accept one another as future in-laws, supposedly out of friendship for Dr. Palmer. She conveniently omits the fact that she acted out of revenge, as well: Mr. Slater made a comment about promiscuity and tattooed women, and Abigail reacts badly to rudeness that doesn't come from her or Jethro."

Tim snorted in derision at that comment: "No matter how highly Abby praises her intervention, it has nothing to do with Jimmy and Breena getting married. They are both of legal age and didn't need Mr. Slater's authorization in the first place. And Gibbs?"

"He's keeping an eye on Abigail and another on Anthony, which causes his eyes to diverge in a horrible way! More seriously, he's trying to keep them both under control as one's inhibitions can be loosened under the influence of alcohol."

"Abby and Tony can hardly be referred as inhibited personalities, Ducky."

"Which makes them twice more susceptible to become troublemakers while inebriated, and I would loathe seeing this nice wedding being disturbed by an overconsumption of alcohol mixed with overconfidence!"

"And… Ziva?"

Ducky raised his eyebrows at the soft question; Timothy seemed to be reluctant to mention the ex-Mossad officer and eager to talk about her at the same time.

"Ziva has gone for the powder room, I believe. She is a real stunner, don't you think so?"

"She is," said McGee in a sigh.

"Timothy, what is troubling you?"

Tim rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand in a vain attempt to clear his thoughts, and he felt Ducky's hand gently squeezing his shoulder in a comforting gesture. The young man took a deep breath and decided to go for it, regardless of his fears of losing the elderly man's respect by confessing that his feelings towards Ziva had drastically changed recently.

"Ducky… Ziva is lovely tonight."

"Truth is!"

"I was sitting at Jimmy and Breena's table and I couldn't help but notice her elegance… I mean, she's usually dressed in casual clothing at work so it was a bit of a shock to see her looking so nice. She could easily walk the red carpet at a movie premiere and the next day, the media would crown her as the new Hollywood star."

"Quite so, dear lad."

"But she's much more than only a beautiful face… Ziva has proved to us time and time again her resourcefulness, courage under fire, commitment to duty and loyalty. She's the kind of woman every young girl dreams to become and I'll be forever in her debt for the support she has provided me after the kidnapping. I don't think I would have found the courage to finish my "project" in Afghanistan if it hadn't been for her steadfast presence."

Ducky inwardly thought that McGee would not have given up on his "project" for all the tea in China, but he kept this comment to himself. The young man wanted to talk and ill-timed interruptions could compromise everything.

"Ziva is… Well, she reminds me of my friend, the one who has been killed during the attack. They share the same qualities, the same passion for life and fearless courage. Ducky, what I am trying to say is… I think my sentiments towards Ziva have changed."

This declaration caused Ducky to narrow his eyes: could Timothy mean…?

"I know it's wrong, Ducky, and I am so sorry but… I have been missing Ziva like crazy those past few weeks. It has been very hard for me to not pick up the phone and call her; I've written her dozens of emails that I've never sent, out of respect for Vance and Doctor Turner's instructions but it took a great deal of willpower to resist temptation and not press the mouse's button on the _'Send'_ hyperlink. I even considered sending her flowers but anonymous gifts mean nothing and I didn't want to alarm her unnecessarily. On one hand I want to see Ziva again because I've discovered that I appreciate her… No, that's not the right word. Ducky, I… I _like_ Ziva, but on the other hand I am disgusted at myself for harboring those sentiments."

"Why is that, Timothy?"

"_**Because Aimee is dead!"**_ shouted Tim as he stood up in a fit of rage, without realizing he had blurted out the name of his lover to the M.E. _**"I should mourn her instead of making eyes at my colleague. I'm betraying her memory and it makes me not better than a slimy slug!"**_

"You are not betraying anyone, Timothy, and certainly not your dear friend's memory," said Ducky with a kind, but firm, voice. "You may not have realized it but you've been in mourning her for months, and not only since you came back to the United States. You are neither a traitor nor a coward; you are simply recovering from the shock of having lost your friend and the healing process is starting to show: you are still hurting from your loss, but at a lesser degree. You feel an energy that is coming back; soon, you will be able to talk about your dear friend without feeling the need to cry. Your eyes are slowly opening to the beauty of life and yes, my lad, it includes noticing another woman's gorgeousness. To quote Confucius: _"We should feel sorrow, but not sink under its oppression"_. Your grandmother isn't the only one of your entourage to have read 'The Analects' by this most remarkable philosopher; I've read it as well, and it has helped me more than once when dealing with painful memories. Jethro has started to read it during your absence and maybe it has influenced him in mellowing his attitude towards you."

Tim rubbed at his eyes to chase away the annoying mist that had gathered under his eyelids.

"But then… Why do I feel I have to ask Aimee for her permission to live again, all the time?"

"That's your honesty talking, Timothy. You dislike being secretive towards the persons you love and you can only be commended on that. However, in this current situation, your honesty is hurting you: asking a dead person for his or her permission is an impossible wish what will lead you to sink into desperation by wanting to reach an impossible goal. But remember this_**: the separations we endure do not separate us from life**_. Just tell yourself, lad, would your friend want to see you miserable for the rest of your days? Was she selfish to the point of preventing you from finding happiness again, even from the grave, so you would remain "hers" forever?"

Tim closed his eyes as the souvenir of his long trek through the desert came back to his mind: the interminable walks by moonlight; the suffocating heat of the day; the blazing inferno in the sky; the wild dog's attack; the hallucinations; and the disincarnated voice of Aimee floating in the air, helping him through his darkest hours: _Beloved… You have to live, Tim… I gave you wings; now fly, as high as you can… Live, Tim… Live for me._

"No, Ducky. She was nothing like that. During my escape, I was close to give up on everything and let the sun kills me. I was so tired, so hurt, I simply couldn't put one feet in front of another. It would have been so simply to lie down and surrender to the heat and then… I heard her voice. I am certain it was her; it was not a figment of my imagination or a hallucination caused by the lack of food and water. It was **her**, Ducky."

"What was she telling you, dear lad?"

"That I had to live… for me, but also for her. She said it wasn't my time and I had to use the wings she has given me to fly high since the world needed me."

"And she was right, Timothy. You have a bright future ahead of you and God knows we need your brains to make this country more secure. And you don't have to do it alone, lad: having a good woman by your side is a major asset, especially since said woman is as committed and courageous as you are. Ziva is the living embodiment of those qualities, with the added privilege of being easy on the eyes… and I have it on good authority that she's not indifferent towards you."

Tim gasped out of surprise: "WHAT? Ducky, you don't mean… Surely, you don't mean…"

"I do!"

"But how is it possible? We've known each other for years and… She never expressed any interest to me in the past. We're good friends, partners, colleagues…"

"And you have never considered that working together would somehow develop a certain kind of feelings between you two?"

"Not with Tony constantly flirting with Ziva and Gibbs' Rule no. 12 looming above our heads, no. Besides, I was too clumsy and overweight to be of interest for her. Ziva had relationships outside the workplace but so did I, with my usual dazzling success."

"Yes, well, one might argue that both of you were not ready for a relationship _inside_ the workplace. But over the years, you have made enormous progresses in self-confidence, Timothy – highlighted by your recent exploits abroad and your physical fitness. As for Ziva, I quite remember the angry young woman who had stepped in Caitlin's shoes, ready to fight to the finish against the whole world. Her evolution has been quite impressive as well and now you've both realized that you are highly compatible."

"Ducky…" whispered Tim as he remembered his panic after he had realized Ziva's absence at the church.

"Who can blame you for liking a brave woman? Who can blame Ziva for liking a good man? Nobody!"

"But… Are you sure Ziva is feeling something towards me… something strong?" asked Tim as he knelt on the grass, next to the bench where Ducky was seated.

The elder man had a kind smile and gently stroke Tim's face before answering:

"Yes, dearest Timothy. I am most certain Ziva feels for you as strongly as you do for her. She didn't go to Afghanistan just out of worry for a colleague – she would have razed the country to the ground until she would find you and woe to the fool who would have dared to stand in her way! After your escape, Ziva has remained quiet about her feelings out of respect for your mourning, but anyone with eyes can see that Director Vance's interdiction to see you has been very hard for her. Believe me, she did not dressed up like a Hollywood movie star only to celebrate Dr. and Mrs. Palmer's wedding – it was also a silent message destined to you, and it said: _"I want to make you happy, Tim."_"

A still-kneeling Tim hugged Ducky with all his might!

TBC…


	88. A union 2

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- Details about the wedding bouquet come from the website WiseGeek.

_- The Tragedy of Othello, the Moor of Venice_ is a play written by William Shakespeare (1564 – 1616) around 1603 (from Wikipedia).

- Here's the meaning of the flowers composing Breena's bouquet:

Baby's breath: innocence

Calla Lily: magnificent beauty

Lily: majesty, truth, honor

Lily of the valley: happiness

Rose: love, joy, beauty

Stock: lasting beauty (from the website theknot.)

- The Hebrew words come from the website Fonebrew.

- To Jeika: thank you! I cannot say when a story of Tim and Ziva in LA will be written but it will probably be done.

- To MarkyV: I loved the cartoon _Brisby and the Secret of NIMH_, too!

- To Guest: thank you for your kind words! More action to come at the wedding!

- To Guest: thanks! xD

- To earthdragon: you are right, it is time for Tim to follow General Stephenson's advice about not turning his back when life offers him a second chance in the shape of a good woman.

- To None: Tim will find the courage to speak to Ziva, believe me!

- To RedDragen: your appreciation is very much appreciated!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 87: A union 2<strong>

The two men remained locked in an embrace for a long time, Tim tucking his head under Ducky's chin while the M.E. carded his fingers through the younger man's blond-brown hair. Ducky inwardly thanked the higher powers that Timothy had came back from a war with his natural-born goodness intact, as he had seen too many times youngsters returning home traumatized beyond belief and unable to adjust themselves to the calmness of home. Those men had seen too much horror, lost too many comrades, and learned too many things about human cruelty to ever be able to appreciate again the simple little joys of everyday life; they would ended up discouraged and embittered, drowning their sorrows in alcohol or drugs, and usually alienated from their loved ones.

Ducky had seen this sad situation happen too many times in his life and he had been worried sick that the same thing would happen to Timothy. It would have been a terrible loss for humanity if the young man's endearing nature had been irremediably damaged in Afghanistan. Sure, Timothy has not come out of that war zone unscathed: he had been kidnapped, beaten up within an inch of his life and he had witnessed the horrible death of his lady-friend. But he had held on, finished his project and came back to DC with a firmer personality without feeling the need to lash out at everybody for his hardships.

Ducky was set on playing "Cupid's helper" for Timothy and Ziva and he did not give a damn about incurring Director Vance's wrath for having disobeyed orders, or Jethro's disapproval since the matchmaking could displease Abigail. His advanced age gave him the opportunity to act as he liked it without fearing repercussions for his career; the worst thing Director Vance could do would be to force him into retirement and Ducky had a worthy successor in the person of just-married Jimmy Palmer! The elderly ME would retire happily knowing the NCIS morgue was in good hands and he was past overdue for retirement, anyway.

As for Jethro, he would have to find a way to calm down Abigail – after all, he was the one who had launched this 'favorite' business in the first place, without even realizing the winner would exploit her prized status to lie, cheat and manipulate her entourage, especially Timothy. Jethro had to face the consequences of his risky playing-favorite attitude leading to the breaking-up of his team and a major fall-out with his computer tech. For years Jethro had rode on his 'tough-ex-Marine-that-you'd-better-not-cross' scary image but it was not working anymore and it was high time for Timothy to spread his wings and soar up like an eagle, up in the sky with the company of a Peregrine falcon from Israel.

Ducky kissed McGee on the top of his head, causing the young man to tighten his embrace, but gently, out of consideration for the ME's frail bones. Ducky reminded him of his beloved Grandpa, who had departed from this world when Tim was in his teens and in bad trouble with Admiral McGee. The fifteen-year-old boy had made it clear that he wanted to study computer engineering at John Hopkins University, much to his father's fury. The Admiral had then warned Timmy that he would not get a dime from him to _"go to these vermin-infested universities filled with drunks, potheads and rapists" _and if his son wanted to waste his time there, then he would have to find the money by himself.

Desperate, Tim had worked odd jobs during weekends and vacations for months in the hopes to save enough for college, and then the news of his grandfather's demise had crushed him. Penny's husband had been a steadfast, caring father-figure in his life and the feeling of abandonment had been overwhelming. But Grandpa had left one last surprise: at the lecture of his will, Tim had learned he would benefit from a trust fund to pay for his education, and Sarah's as well! Admiral McGee had left the attorney's office in a state of sheer madness, abundantly cursing his father's memory and yelling that there should be a law against meddlesome parents. But for all his ranting and raving, there was nothing he could do: the trust funds would be managed by Penny until Tim and Sarah would reach legal age, and his mother was a firm believer in higher education so there was no way to persuade her to let him manage his children's money. Thanks to his grandfather, Tim had been able to enroll in John Hopkins, and then later at MIT – he still had worked during his studies to pay for food, books and computers but Grandpa's legacy had been a breath of fresh air.

"Timothy?"

"Yeah, Ducky?"

"It is time for you and Dear Ziva to have a conversation, don't you think so?"

Tim raised his head to see the older man's blue eyes twinkling from a secret amusement, as if he had a secret plan stored inside his mind and was dying to tell all about it. McGee wanted nothing more than to exchange a few words with the ex-Mossad officer but he would have to go past Vance's orders, Gibbs' scrutiny and Abby's meddlesome tendencies and he doubted that even the commotion created by a loud party would be enough to cover his tracks. Besides, he did not want to get Ziva in trouble again right after having been scolded for her impromptu rescue mission in Afghanistan; contrary to Tony and Abby, Tim knew when to not push his luck and being the mastermind behind the creation of an amazing computer program did not exempted him from respecting the authority of Director Vance. Then again, the toothpick-man had no rules against workplace romance and unlike Gibbs he was not the kind of leader to be worried about his subordinates being distracted from their tasks because of love...

"How am I going to talk to Ziva, Ducky? Gibbs is at the party and he sees everything. He will hit the ceiling if he sees me with Ziva after I've told him in no uncertain terms that I didn't want to have anything to do with him, never again. As for Abby..."

"Do not worry, lad. I have elaborated a strategy that will allow you to meet Ziva undisturbed in a quieter room and, with a little help from the charming Breena, I am quite certain my plan will be a success."

The declaration left Tim stunned: how could Breena be of any help? The new Mrs. Palmer would be too busy dancing with her husband to be distracted from a budding romance between two of her guests. He opened his mouth to ask a million questions but Ducky merely winked, silently meaning that he had the situation under control and to not waste time with pointless interrogations.

Tim nodded, surrendering to his old friend's schemes since Ducky was one of the rare persons he trusted unconditionally; there had been moments when Tim had thought the ME had been indifferent towards his health, like after Jet had attacked him or during that tedious incident with the hot-tub filled with polluted water. Ducky had then been too distracted talking his head off with old stories than to help the Agent in need of medical help. The Scotsman had been so ashamed of himself later that he had apologized proficiently and Tim had a hard time convincing the older man to not resign out of shame. Ducky had then sworn to better look after Timothy and he was resolute to make the young man's happiness, even if it would alienate him with Director Vance and his long-time friend Jethro.

Tim got on his feet and helped Ducky up before asking:

"What do you want me to do, Ducky?"

"Just follow my instructions, lad, and everything will be fine. I have spotted a quiet little room just a few doors' down the corridor next to the reception room and it will be the perfect place for you and Dear Ziva to have a little_ tête-à-tête_. It would have been better if you could have used the garden but too many people come here to smoke and you would be constantly disrupted. So now, let's go back to the reception room where, if I am not mistaken, an important event of the party is going to happen pretty soon."

The two men went back inside and indeed, the party was filled with laughter and anticipation: the bridesmaids and other young women – Abby and Ziva amongst them - had been gathered in the middle of the reception room. Jimmy and Breena had stepped on the stage, next to the DJ. She was holding her wedding bouquet with both hands and Tim immediately understood what was going to happen; following tradition, Breena would throw the bouquet to a group of single women and the lucky winner would be considered as the next woman to be married. It would be the same thing with Breena's garter, which would be removed by Jimmy and thrown in the direction of bachelors hoping to become a groom. This event was usually done in good humor but there had been times where violent rows or even stampedes had erupted between the participants. Tim inwardly wished it would not be the case: it was his friend's wedding and everything had to be perfect!

"We are just in time for the first stage of my plan. By the way, Timothy, do you happen to know where the tradition of throwing the bride's bouquet comes from?"

"I've read about it, years ago. It comes from Medieval Europe, where maidens would rip pieces of a bride's dress since this outfit was considered to be a good-luck charm – but over the centuries, women wanted to keep their expensive wedding dresses intact for their future daughters and they could also feel uncomfortable at the idea of being 'stripped' in public, so it became customary to toss objects in order to keep a safe distance between the bride and a crowd of guests. Finally, tradition has settled on throwing the bouquet to unmarried women and the garter to single men, even though some impolite morons could try and get the garter while the bride is still wearing it."

"Weddings are wonderful but alas, there is always a risk of incidents occurring due to tiredness, excessive consumption of alcohol or lack of good manners. Thanks goodness some traditions are no longer observed, such as the _chahivari_: it was customary in Europe to make an awful racket with kitchen utensils and sing bawdy songs outside the house of a newly-wed, ill-assorted couple – like, for instance, when men married women young enough to be their granddaughters or, even worse, when some couples did not fit society's standards. There is a prime example of the latter in Shakespeare's _Othello_, when Iago and Roderigo resent Desdemona's secret marriage with Othello and then shout the news under her father's windows in a very mocking way. Later, newlyweds resented the _chahivari _as they were looking forward to have intercourse and did not want it to be spoiled by loud obscenities, so parents would usually offer drinks until the guests were too inebriated to sing anything. Oh! If I am not mistaken, the charming Breena is getting ready to throw her bouquet..."

Indeed, the new Mrs. Palmer was looking at the group of single women waiting in anticipation but something seemed to displease her. Tim looked more attentively and saw that Abby was jumping on the spot and waving her arms about like a semaphore, at the risk of slapping the other participants. The Goth was calling out _"Me! Me! Breena, over here! Me! Throw it at me!"_ in a high-pitched voice and her platform boots were making loud _thump thump thump_ noises at each jump, thus disturbing the decorum of the wedding. Ziva was standing a bit aside of the group of women, looking a bit hesitant, as if she had been invited to participate at the tradition but without really understanding what was going on.

Tim saw Breena exchanging a glance with Ducky and then the bride gave her arm a mighty swing...

... The bouquet went airborne...

... But deviated from the expected direction...

... And the flowers landed...

._.. Right into Ziva's hands!_

"HOORAY!"

A round of applause saluted the catch, increased by Ziva's astonished face. Her Mossad-trained reflexes had made her caught the flowers in a graceful gesture but she seemed to be surprised to find herself suddenly at the center of attention. Tim smiled at the sight of Ziva cradling the flowers against her bosom: she was as lovely as the flowers! The guests applauded even more enthusiastically to compliment the well-dressed woman who had caught the bouquet so swiftly whereas Abby remained rooted on the spot, her mouth agape and her arms still raised in the air like she had not realized the prize went to another person. Some of the unmarried women noted her stupefaction and started giggling loudly, especially the ones who had been bumped into by Abby just moments earlier. The Goth had tried to monopolize Breena's attention to get the bouquet and the bride had thrown it away from the scarecrow!

A furious Abby glared at Ziva, who did not even notice as she was politely smiling at the cheering audience. Then the Lab Rat opened her mouth to launch a flood of protests, to accuse the bride of having cheated her of a right to win the bouquet and that the whole event was staged and she would complain to Gibbs. But before she could utter a word, a group of young men stepped up in the center of the reception room and the movement moved aside the single women, including Abby. While the audience had been busy applauding Ziva, Jimmy had discreetly removed Breena's garter and was showing it triumphantly to the eager bachelors. Tim half-expected to see Tony amongst the hopeful men but he was not in the group; the young man looked around and saw the Senior Agent engrossed in a conversation with Amanda, the girl from Accounting. Obviously, Tony was not interested in wedding traditions as he was continuously pouring champagne into Amanda's flute, and Tim worried about them being too drunk to drive safely home.

Ducky suddenly asked: "Now, my dear Timothy, would you mind going to the drawing-room which is two doors down the hallway leading to the reception room? It is a small place furnished with leather armchairs and the walls are adorned with golden wallpaper showing a design of acanthus leaves."

"But why should I go there? Ziva is here and…"

A finger on Ducky's lips and a meaningful glance in the direction of Gibbs stopped Tim's objections; the silver-haired man was busy calming an upset Abby, but McGee knew from personal experience that his soon-to-be former Boss had a knack for seeing and hearing everything, from the most deserted to the busiest place. It was a talent Gibbs had honed during his years as a Marine sniper and it never failed to innerve his subordinates since it was impossible to keep a bit of privacy around him. Tim acquiesced by nodding his head to Ducky and, after a last look at Ziva, he left the reception room quietly.

The garter was won by a red-haired man in his early twenties, provoking another round of applause and then, the D.J. asked the audience to resume dancing by playing Latin music on the turntables. Some of the guests promptly got on their feet to swing at the lively rhythm. Ducky noted that the return of couples on the dance floor had an unexpected consequence: it separated Ziva from the group of single women and made her walk his way, whereas Abby (and a restraining Gibbs) had been left on the other side of the reception room.

It was the opportunity the M.E. was waiting for; he made a beeline to the ex-Mossad and said in an affable tone:

"Congratulations, Dear Ziva! Your dexterous catch of Breena's bouquet marks you as the next bride-to-be, if the saying linked to this custom is true."

"Really, Ducky? Is that was it was all about? Jimmy has told me about this custom maybe two minutes before we gathered around but I wasn't sure to have understood clearly, with all the noise and music going on. But Ducky, why did Breena throw the bouquet at _me_, instead of the rest of the girls? I saw her aim and it looked like she deliberately missed the group."

The elderly Scotsman could not tell Ziva that sometimes, the throwing of the bouquet and the garter could be staged; the bride would deliberately favor an engaged friend, or her chief bridesmaid, or even a special person by trying to give him/her the prizes. He could also not tell her that, days ago, he had asked Jimmy and Breena if things could be arranged so Ziva would win the bouquet, telling them in confidence that she was in love with a very shy man and they both needed a little nudge in the right direction. Happy to oblige, Jimmy and Breena had accepted on the spot.

"Well, never mind that. There are beautiful flowers and it will make a nice reminder of this day, don't you think?"

"They are indeed beautiful," said Ziva, looking down at the bouquet of lily-of-the-valley, baby's breath, Calla lilies, white roses and stocks she was holding in her hands.

"You should place them in a vase, so they won't wither as the evening goes on."

"That's a good idea, Ducky, but where can I find a vase? Maybe I should ask one of the waiters…"

"There's no need to trouble yourself, my dear. I happen to have seen a vase in a drawing-room nearby, and I am certain the restaurant's staff won't mind you use it to preserve the freshness of such a nice floral arrangement."

"Really? Where is it?"

"The drawing-room is two doors from the reception room, down this hallway. You will recognize it easily from the gold wallpaper with designs of leaves decorating the walls."

"Thanks, Ducky!"

Out of impulse, Ziva kissed the M.E. on the cheek and ran down the corridor, leaving a very blushing Ducky behind. He straightened his bow tie and tried to regain a straight face but it was hard under the guests amused glances, since some of them had witnessed the old man being kissed by a beauty – not to mention their comments!

"_Hey, did you see that? The old guy got a kiss from the hot chick!"_

"_Let's hope it won't cause him to go on cardiac arrest: it'd ruin the party if we need to call 991!"_

"_Man, I wouldn't mind getting a heart attack from being kissed by such a looker!"_

"_Yeah, she can be __**my**__ doctor anytime."_

"_And ten-to-one the old guy would die with a happy smile on his wrinkled face!"_

"_You men are such pigs!"_

"_Aw, Tina, there's no need to be jealous! You and I can play 'doctors' anytime, anywhere – even on the sweets table."_

"_You degenerate!"_

"_And proud of it, too!"_

Ducky repressed a smile at those comments, and then he looked in the direction of the corridor where Tim, and then Ziva, had taken to go to the special drawing-room. They would have the needed peace and quiet to have a little heart-to-heart (no pun intended) and finally reveal their mutual feelings. Ducky was certain his little stratagem would bear fruit and, if he lived long enough, he would be invited for another wedding soon…. And then, after having retired from NCIS, maybe he would start a new career as a marital advisor?

"**It was mine, I'm telling you! All mine!"** roared a voice next to him, and Ducky realized with a start that it was Abby. She had managed to clear a path through the dancers and was getting dangerously close to the hallway leading to the golden drawing-room.

"Abby, calm down! There's no need to make a scene!" said Gibbs, trying to stop Abby from storming out of the reception room in all her Gothic fury.

"Jethro? What seems to be the matter?" inquired Ducky.

"Abby's furious because she didn't catch the bouquet, and she keeps saying Breena threw it at Ziva on purpose; and now, she wants to find Ziva and snatch the flowers from her hand."

"Really, Abigail, you should not get upset over such a trivial thing," said Ducky, clucking his tongue in disapproval while secretly disapproving of Abby's outfit. "The custom of getting the bride's bouquet or garter has no influence whatsoever over your chances of getting married in the future."

"Who cares about marriage? All I want is the flowers!" said Abby in her best, childish, whiny tone that had won her Gibbs' favor so many times. "They're mine, legally mine. I'm the best-looking single woman of the party and I deserve the prize!"

"I must say, I am surprised! You have always expressed a distinct taste for **black** flowers; why would you be interested in **white** ones, all of a sudden?"

Abby opened rounded eyes at the question.

"Well, I… I…"

"Not to mention it would deteriorate your appearance. You have made a grand– _"but vilely ugly"_, added Ducky inwardly – fashion statement by wearing a monochrome of black and it has not escaped your attention that you are the sole guest of the assistance to be dressed in such an original manner. A bouquet of white flowers would be completely out of place, not to forget that some persons might interpret this as a sign that your statement is not genuine since that, for all your originality, you seem to be very attached to an age-old wedding custom."

"What? No! Traditions are for old fossils!" protested the Goth while Gibbs frowned at this magnificent _faux-pas_.

"Quite so," answered the ME, unaffected by Abby's inconsideration towards him. "Then, you should not be upset about not getting the bride's bouquet. Instead, you should be hitting the dance floor for all the assistance to see that you are indeed the best-looking single woman of the party."

"You're right, I do. Thanks, Duck!"

Abby kissed the elderly man on the cheek before rushing back to the reception room only this time, Ducky did not enjoy the gesture of affection. Instead, he took out a pocket handkerchief and cleaned the black lipstick from his face, before glancing down at the soiled linen with a small grimace. Gibbs looked at his old friend and rose an interrogative eyebrow but, for once, he was at a loss to what Ducky was up to. But he had more pressing matters for the moment, namely stopping Abby to get into trouble; eagle-eyed Leon Vance was watching every movement of the Team Gibbs' members and the ex-Marine was quite aware that the slightest argument could spell their dooms. He nodded at Ducky and stepped in Abby's wake, keeping a close eye on his official favorite.

* * *

><p>Ziva entered the golden drawing-room, bouquet in hand and with all her senses in alert. She had understood from the very beginning that Breena had indeed favored her and Ducky had not directed her to this particular room simply to prevent her flowers from wilting. Besides, there was no vase in sight: just a pair of leather-covered armchairs, a small pedestal table between them with a few magazines, a built-in wardrobe with sliding doors and a floor lamp made of wrought iron. It was just the kind of room where people would retire to enjoy tobacco before the anti-smoking law in public places was passed, and now it was only used for people wanting to pass the time while reading magazines.<p>

To tell the truth, Ziva had the feeling a conspiracy had been at work – but not of the kind that she would have needed to take her knives from out of her silver-clothed purse and call for back-up after having neutralized a perpetrator. No, it was more like a gentle gush of wind pushing her in a certain direction…

Then, a movement in the corner of the drawing-room caught her attention and her heart leaped inside her throat to drop back inside her chest in a nanosecond.

_Tim!_

It was indeed him, her special man, her _ahouve_, dressed like a true gentleman and looking magnificent. Ziva realized that it was the first time in weeks that she could be with him without incurring Vance's wrath for having disobeyed his orders and, considering Tim's pleasantly surprised face, it looked like he was thinking exactly the same thing.

"Tim!"

"Ziva! Oh, it's w-wonderful to see you!" exclaimed Tim while cursing his stuttering tongue for making a comeback at the worst moment.

"Likewise, Tim… Did Ducky suggest you to come to this room, too?" asked the ex-Mossad as she was laying down the bouquet on the pedestal table.

"Y-Yes, in a way…"

"He's quite a foxy kind of guy, isn't it? He may be old but he's as keen as ketchup… No, I mean, as mustard… That's the correct way to say it, isn't it? _'Keen as mustard'_?"

"Y-Y-Yes…"

"Oh, good! I always want my English to be perfect. It's not easy, considering all the idioms and different expressions there is between England-English and American-English but I really want to reach a good level in your language… Oh sorry, I think I'm bubbling…"

"D-Don't you m-mean _'b-babbling'_?"

"Yes, that's correct. I'm sorry, Tim…" said Ziva, inwardly cursing herself for all eternity for talking wildly at the very moment when, thanks to Ducky, she had the opportunity to speak to her adored Tim after having waited for weeks to do so.

McGee, at the same time, was silently calling himself the unsurpassed King of Idiots for stuttering while he wanted nothing but declare his love to the beauteous Israeli woman. But before he could loathe his uncontrollable tongue, the Dark Dove tucked beneath his vest suddenly poked him in the ribs and it felt like the weapon was telling him to get his thoughts together. Blushing to the tip of his ears, Tim swallowed and looked at Ziva straight in the eyes before saying:

"Ziva, you… You look absolutely gorgeous tonight."

It was the woman's turn to feel her face showing the same color as her evening gown; indeed, she had dressed for Tim to notice and it looked like she had hit the ox's eye – or what it the bull's?

"Oh, Tim…"

"I mean it! You are even lovelier than the flowers of Breena's bridal bouquet."

"Thank you… And you look extremely handsome in this tux. In fact, some of the women in the assistance were openly staring at you and it annoyed me to no end!"

Tim's heart was pounding inside his chest like a hammer; Ducky had been right all along: Ziva _**had**_ feelings for him!

"Do you mean…?"

"Oh, yes! I am not ashamed to say that I was a bit jealous."

"Just a little bit?" teased the young man.

"Actually, a big bit, and even a huge bit," said Ziva, remembering a woman who had expressed her interest towards Tim by using the most salacious expressions and dirty jokes, endlessly speculating to her table companions that the Best Man was probably hung like a stallion and how she would not hesitate to pay handsomely (ha ha) for a chance to verify her theory. That woman had been very close to find herself at the business end of Ziva's knives!

"Ziva…"

"What is it, _ahava zah' chély_ (my pure love)?"

Completely besotted, Tim was looking at Ziva as if he wanted to eat her alive – and not only for her gorgeousness. He had never been a shallow person looking for statuesque women only to satisfy his own vanity and he resented men who would sell their souls on the spot for the privilege to have a trophy at their arm. Tim knew Ziva's personality, her courage, her loyalty; she had suffered a lot in her life with the horrible death of her teenage sister in a Hamas bombing and the betrayal of her father, leaving her at the mercy of terrorists in Somalia. She had been angry, determined and unforgiving but, over the years, Ziva had evolved into a good NCIS Agent and her anger against the injustices of this world had mellowed, leaving her with the opportunity to enjoy life and love. She had grown out of the idea that she was 'doomed' to die young from her activities as a Mossad Agent and had dared to turn her back on her past by becoming an American citizen, living in a free country where dreams of a good life could become true. She was gutsy, adventurous and sharp; she had braved unimaginable perils to rescue him in Afghanistan; she had even stood against General Stephenson and Director Vance! Ziva was… a _Dark Dove_, in flesh and blood, and Tim could hardly believe his luck that she had chosen him of all people.

But she **did** have chosen him, and his renewed self-confidence – acquired for at a high price abroad – chased any kind of hesitation Tim could still harbor in his heart.

"Ziva, I… I have been thinking a lot about you."

"Me, too."

"And I was very worried when I didn't see you at the church."

"Oh, that!" said the ex-Mossad, rolling her jet-black eyes heavenwards. "Can you believe my car had a flat tire this morning, just when I was leaving for the church? It looked just like a joke from a bad romantic movie! I couldn't change the flat tire in my nice clothes as I could have soiled them so I had to rush back inside, take the dress off to put on jeans and an old T-shirt, change the tire, clean myself up and get dressed again. You can understand I arrived late, and I didn't want to disrupt the ceremony since everybody was already seated. I stayed near the front gate, next to a pillar and watched from a distance."

Ziva remembered how hard it had been to be so far from the altar; it had taken all her willpower to not rush to the altar and jump on Tim's bones right there and here. Her special man was simply handsome, more than all the male Hollywood stars put together and she had been very close to kiss the living daylights of Tim in front of God and the whole assembly of guests, Vance's orders be damned!

Tim swallowed the annoying lump that had formed inside his throat at the thought of Ziva skinning out of her red evening gown, and managed to say: "It… It's nice that you've been able to come in spite of your car troubles, because… Ziva, I want to tell you that… I think you're beautiful, inside and out."

"Tim…"

"And you are the most courageous, brave, intrepid woman in the world. I'll never forget you coming to Afghanistan to rescue me; if it isn't loyalty, then I don't know what it is!"

"_Motèke chély_! (my darling)" said the young woman, stepping towards Tim with star-filled eyes. He grabbed her hand and caressed it in such a gentle, respectful way that Ziva thought she would go mad. Her heart was beating so fast it sounded like it would explode out of her chest to meet its male counterpart in mid-way. The intensity of his green gaze gave her a bout of vertigo but she felt warmth and joy filling her at the same time. Her _ahouve_ was close, so close…

"Ziva, I love you."

"Tim, I love you."

A kiss followed the tender declaration and it was gentle, tender and amorous.

Love bloomed between the man and the woman like a magnificent flower, its petals spread in glorious beauty.

Time stood still.

The heavens smiled at the couple.

Somewhere, a phoenix cried in triumph.

TBC….


	89. An irruption

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- Tony-fans might want to skip this chapter.

_- Qui vive_ is a French expression dating from 1726, born on the battlefields. Sentinels guarding camps would challenge visitors by shouting: _"Qui __voulez-vous __qui __vive?__"_ (literally: "Whom do you wish to live?" but meaning "Whose side are you on?"). Later, the expression has been shortened to _"Qui vive?"_ ("Who comes here?") and became a synonym for "being on the alert" (from Thesaurus).

- The saying _"Revenge is a dish best served cold"_ has been popularized in the 1967 film _Death Rides a Horse_ and in the 1969 novel _The Godfather_ by American author and screenwriter Mario Puzo (1920-1999).

- The quote _"Revenge is sweet, especially for women"_ is from George Gordon Byron, 6th Baron Byron (1788–1824).

- To Toby: Abby's comeuppance will happen soon!

- To sprouthater: Abby isn't coming to that drawing-room… read the chapter and you'll know who is! :o)

- To Cree: thank you very much for your kind words!

- To Guest: Tim and Ziva definitively deserve some happiness, and no one will stand on their way.

- To Reddragen: hope you will like this new chapter, too!

- To earthdragon: Tim isn't worried about Gibbs personally, since he's leaving for LA soon but he doesn't want Ziva to get in trouble.

- To None: when people will find out about Tim and Abby, there will be turmoil! XD

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 88: An irruption<strong>

Warmth.

Closeness.

Tenderness.

Sincerity.

Passion.

Gentleness.

Beauty.

Joy.

Purity.

Ecstasy.

Adoration.

_Love._

Tim and Ziva remained embraced for a long time, kissing one another gently – almost shyly, as if they could not believe they were sealing their love in the sweetest way. After many obstacles and hardships, the longed-for miracle was finally happening and it was magical, beyond description. Ziva's love was like liquid fire rushing through the cracks of Tim's heart and solidifying there, gluing the broken parts together to form a whole again and allowing her special man to heal better, to breathe better, to _live_ better. Aimee's souvenir would remain with Tim forever but he was finally allowing himself to have hope in a future where he would not be alone, grieving endlessly until the sorrow would destroy him completely – and his future had taken the beauteous form of Ziva David. It was simply incredible and Tim tightened his embrace on the young woman, just to make certain that he was not dreaming.

Ziva was also overwhelmed by Tim's love, as she had felt unworthy of him for years. Every time she had thought about McGee, unwanted souvenirs would come up at the surface of her mind – her past filled with violence, her callousness towards Tim, all the times she had laughed alongside Tony's stupid pranks – making her ashamed of herself for having being so disdainful. She had dismissed this feeling at first, considering it as an 'abnormality' considering her training as a Mossad officer and a Federal Agent. But Only-A-Civilian Tim had been steadfastly gentle and respectful; he had come to rescue her in Somalia; he had proved time and time again his courage under fire and Ziva had fallen for him… _hard_. She had hidden her affection under a casual mask because she wanted to keep nosey Tony away from her private life, but also because she feared Tim would react badly after learning that one of his mockers was actually in love with him. In the end she had opted for being his friend until she would have been ready to confess her feelings but Afghanistan disrupted everything.

Tim sighed as he felt Ziva's full lips moving softly under his', silently granting him entrance. Their tongues met in a slow, pure caress and the kiss became a universe entirely made of love, with their hearts beating at unison. Ziva ran her fingers through Tim's brown-blond hair and then she wrapped her arms around the young man's neck, who answered by amorously caressing her back through the soft fabric of her evening dress. Like the oak and the ivy, the couple was entwined so tightly that not even death could tear it apart. Ziva felt her heart explode in a thousand fireworks under the magnificent feeling of Tim's hands on her body. Deep down inside her core, a part of her died just as another one was born, rising from the flames of passion and the young woman thought she heard a bird screeching in the background.

She never wanted the kiss to end; it was Tim, her man, her _ahouve_ and she wanted to show her love for him for the whole world to see! She cradled his face between her hands and deepened the kiss as if she was drinking from the Fountain of Youth. Tim moaned and ran his hands along her beautiful curves, relishing in the feeling of her pressed against him. Ziva's skin was so soft; her sculpted body was slim and strong; her scent was a mix of jasmine and lily-of-the-valley coming from Breena's bouquet that she had recently held against her bosom. Ziva David, courageous, gorgeous … and sincere, too, just like Aimee had been. Stephenson and Ducky had been right all along; life _had_ granted Tim a second chance in the shape of a good woman and he would rather be in Hell for all eternity than to let her go.

The need for air became insistent and they reluctantly ended the kiss, their arms still wrapped around one another. Ziva gave Tim a radiant smile before pressing her lips on the tip of his nose, and then his cheek and his earlobe; she rested her head on his shoulder and let out a sigh of happiness that shook the young man from head to toe.

"Oh, Ziva…"

"_Ahava chély_ (my love). _Motèke chély_ (my darling). My everything. My Tim."

Tim gently moved his head to press his lips against the dark strands covering Ziva's head - but gently, as if he did not want to ruin her hairstyle. The woman's heart beat more strongly at this contact: Tim was so considerate, a true gentleman!

"I remember… At ISAF's hospital, you started saying those words. I guessed you were speaking Hebrew but I wondered what you meant…" whispered Tim, lost in the sweet scent of Ziva's hair.

"Oh, Tim… I was 'frenetic' with worry about you after Vance has told us about the kidnapping; I've had the worst nightmares of my life, like finding you too late or being assisting to your execution and me being unable to prevent it. I didn't tell Gibbs or anyone about those dreams but they terrified me. I just… I simply couldn't lose you, just like I've lost Tali and many of my friends. I just couldn't! And then, when I saw you in that hospital bed, wounded but alive… Tim, I knew my heart would be yours, forever. I wanted to confess my feelings for you so much my lips were burning from the inside, but I didn't dare since you were traumatized and grieving for your fallen friends. That's why I spoke Hebrew to tell you my love; otherwise keeping quiet would have driven me crazy and I was already in deep trouble with Stephenson for having pounded a few of his Marines to the ground."

Ziva gently ended the hug to lock her jet-black eyes into Tim's emerald.

"Once, you were sleeping and I said, _"Timothy McGee, _ani ohevet otcha _(I love you)_". I've vowed to say this sentence again in America, in English and to your face and I am going to keep my word. Timothy McGee, I love you."

"Oh, Ziva! I love you too… _Anni… o…nev… ocha_?"

Ziva's delighted expression was a sight to behold: "Tim, _ahouve_! Are you trying to speak Hebrew?"

"Anything for you, the most beautiful woman and courageous in the world," said McGee, his eyes shining from a fire that was consuming him from the inside. He wanted to love Ziva, to drink her beauty, to give her his heart, his soul!

"That's the nicest thing anyone has said to me."

"And you deserve it, Ziva. You deserve everything that is good and true; I don't give a damn about what you've done in the past. The only thing that matters to me is the future… A future, with you. _Annie… ove… achat_?"

"For a man to a woman, it is: _"Ani ohev otach"_, corrected Ziva with a smile.

"_Ani ohev otach."_

"That's right."

"Ziva David, _ani ohev otach."_

"Tim McGee, _ani ohevet otcha_."

"_Ani ohev otach."_

"_Ani ohevet otcha."_

"You, forever."

"You, _létamide_."

A very-thorough kiss followed the heartfelt declaration, and then Tim gathered Ziva up in his arms and spun her around, making the young woman turn in the drawing-room like a spinning top completely out of control. Ziva laughed as Tim exclaimed _"Ani ohev otach! Ani ohev otach! Ani ohev otach!"_ repetitively while holding her in this whirlwind embrace, regardless of the fact that the momentum could knock down the round table with Breena's bouquet still on it. They were acting like children and not giving a care about it, too happy to have finally found each other. They were in love! It was like a sudden explosion of a supernova; a hurricane roaring across the land; a volcano releasing its power to the sky; it was…

Tim suddenly stopped spinning Ziva and put her back on the floor, his whole body on a state of alert. The young woman was about to ask her beloved what was wrong but then, her Mossad training kicked in, raising the _qui vive_ in less than a second. She heard the unmistakable noise of running feet outside in the hallway and, judging from the noise, it was heading towards the direction of a certain drawing-room adorned with golden wallpaper and acanthus leaves… right where they were!

Ziva's eyes widened at the sound; the stomping could be made by someone wearing large footwear (like platform boots) but then, she also recognized the clicking noise of high-heeled shoes. Meaning two persons, one of them a woman, were running in their direction and it was way too close for comfort. Who could it be?

Abby?

Breena?

Tim never hesitated; he seized the bouquet and placed it on Ziva's lap, and then he grabbed her hand and rushed towards the built-in closet; in one swift movement he opened the sliding door by making it roll on the metallic track fixed on the floor, stepped inside the closet with Ziva hot at his heels, and then he gave the door a push so it would roll back, leaving it ajar so they could both see what was going on from their hiding place.

The ex-Mossad could not help but be impressed by Tim's quick thinking – and the stealth he had deployed! Her _ahouve_ had certainly learned a lot during his stay in Afghanistan. Tim had found a safe hideout so they would not be caught in _flagrante delicto_ by Gibbs, Abby or another guest of having spoken to each other in spite of Director Vance's interdiction, and he had even thought of taking the bouquet with them so the flowers would not betray Ziva's presence in the drawing-room. They pressed against one another so they could peek through the tiny space left between the sliding door and the frame, and the young woman took the opportunity to slip her hand inside Tim's and give it a reassuring shake.

McGee squeezed back at the very moment when the stomping noise stopped just outside the drawing-room's door, and two persons stumbled inside while laughing and talking too loud. Much to the hiding couple's astonishment, the unexpected visitors were Tony and Amanda!

"C'mon, Amanda, let's go!" said the Senior Agent. "This party is a bore and if I hear another toast to the health of the newlyweds, I'm gonna be sick. You and I have better things to do than waste our time in this stuffy restaurant!"

A giggling Amanda fell – rather than sat – on one of the leather-covered armchairs and Ziva somberly thought that inebriation definitively did not suit women. Then again, it did not suit men, either. Good thing her special man had never expressed an excessive taste in strong liquors!

"Aw, c'mon, Amy! Lift that lovely posterior of yours off that chair and come with me. We can sneak out of this place, ask for a cab and go to this nice hotel I happen to know downtown. Great room service, assured discretion and the concierge (a friend of mine) always has a box filled with toys stashed under his desk: condoms, lubricants of all kinds, aphrodisiac shower gels, the whole lot! We'll even play with my handcuffs and order food to be served in our room, how about that?"

Amanda kept on laughing her head off, as if she had just heard the best joke of her life. Her blonde hair was almost completely undone and one of her dress buttons had been undone, exposing her cleavage more than necessary. Tim thought that she was lucky to be with Tony; even if he had a major falling-out with the man, McGee had to admit DiNozzo had a few standards and was not the kind to take advantage of a drunk, defenseless woman. There was a high possibility they would end up in a hotel together but Amanda would probably fall asleep, passed out on the bed from too much champagne and Tony would spend the rest of the night watching a movie on the room's flat-screen TV.

"Amanda, Amanda, Amanda… C'mon, honey bun, let's not waste another minute in here, the night is still young!" said Tony in a sing-song voice. "I thought I'd lose my mind out of boredom at the church, and then there was all the drive to that overrated restaurant, plus having to listen to that lousy Best Man's speech…"

Ziva curled her fists in rage!

"Not to forget waiting for Gremlin and Mrs. Gremlin to have their first dance – as if they knew how to dance in the first place! The Gremlin stomped on his new wife's feet four times, I've counted them – and all that fuss about the bouquet and the garter… Frankly, if it hadn't been for Gibbs and Ducky, I wouldn't have bothered to come at this ridiculous wedding but at least something good came out of it since we met again. So, how about you and me going to this neat hotel and have some fun, like adults do?"

Amanda was still laughing, but in a strange way – as if she was sobbing through her hilarity. Tony frowned slightly like he was getting unsure of his success with the blonde woman. He had been happy to see Amanda again; it had been years since he had dated her but he had found memories of their time together – a nice dinner at a Mexican restaurant, followed by a vigorous session in bed. Of course, getting a date from Amanda had been made a lot easier after Tony had spread the false rumor about McGee been gay…

The woman's laughter was getting hysterical, and then suddenly she started crying. Alarmed, Tony crouched near the seated Amanda, at a loss of what to do. One minute she looked like she was having the time of her life, the next she was turning on the waterworks! Could it have been something he had said? Maybe she was not willing to have some fun with him at the hotel? That was highly unlikely but then again, Tony knew better than to insist when a woman said _"No"_. If it were the case here, he would just put Amanda in a taxi and let her go home before returning to the party – after all, there were plenty of other nice ladies dancing in the reception room.

"Amanda? Hey, babe, what's the matter? Are you sick? Or maybe you're getting tired from the entire hullabaloo? There, there, no need to get upset! I'll get you a cab and you go home safe, and then I'll call you tomorrow morning. You don't have to ruin your good looks simply because you don't feel up to spend the night with me. I'm granting you a rain check and we will have fun together another day, away from this sickeningly-sweet wedding atmosphere which is murder for my sharp senses. Frankly, all these beribboned flowers make me feel nauseous; I can smell them even in this room!"

Tim and Ziva nearly busted out laughing in their hideout. Tony had no idea he actually smelled the bride's bouquet!

"Ah, I can see you're getting better," said Tony, flashing his mega-watt smile at Amanda who was dabbing at her eyes with a paper tissue; she seemed to have gained a bit of color on her cheeks and her eyes were sparkling. "It's all right to feel tired, babe, especially after having to endure such a painful celebration which is why you and I ought to go to this hotel and get some well-deserved rest: good food, a comfy bed, and the company of yours truly. Who could ask for anything more?"

Amanda crushed the paper tissue in her hand, looked at Tony straight in the eyes, and yelled:

"**What makes you think I'd ever want to go anyplace with you?"**

Tony recoiled from this sudden burst of anger, nearly hitting his bottom on the drawing-room's floor in the process. Inside the closet, Tim and Ziva's hands locked together like iron.

"You Hypocrite, Anthony DiNozzo! You TWO-FACED Hypocrite! After what you've done, you have the nerve to ask me out again?"

"What? But, Amanda… Babe, I've never hurt you!"

"LIAR!" yelled the woman again, and then she got on her feet, swung her arm and slapped Tony right on the face.

**CRAC.**

"OUCH!"

Tony's hand automatically went to his face and he got on his feet as well, his face reddening from the pain and the humiliation he had just endured. Even inebriated, Amanda had a strong arm and he could feel the mark of four fingers and a thumb blooming on his cheek. The woman had some nerve to have hit him; the last time it had happened, he had been eight years old! Tony had vainly begged his father to take him to the Borgata casino in Atlantic City and DiNozzo Senior, impatient to meet his date at the roulette, had backhanded his son before leaving him in their hotel room with the TV for sole company. But Tony was a full-grown man and he did not have to take this kind of treatment from anyone!

Tim nearly sprung out of the build-in closet after Amanda had struck Tony, but the feeling of Ziva's hand on his wrist stopped him short. The young man understood the silent argument – that it was no affair of theirs, Tony was not in mortal danger and could easily handle a woman who had obviously too much to drink. Besides, they could hardly explain their presence in the drawing-room's closet and it would fuel Tony's supply of dirty jokes for a lifetime.

"The Hell is wrong with you, Amanda?" roared the Senior Agent, still holding his red face in his hand. "I've been nothing but a perfect gentleman and that's how you repay me?"

"Repay you? I should have shot you between the eyes and no jury would have convince me, you double-crosser!" yelled Amanda back.

"But why? What I have ever done to you?"

"What you've done to me? Oh, you stinking hypocrite, dirty liar! You've wrecked my life and my family's, and you have the nerve to ask what you've done? Getting memory-flawed in your old age?"

Tony looked at the furious Amanda with rounded eyes; obviously, he did not have a clue of what she was talking about.

"But… I haven't done anything! We dated, we had sex like two consenting adults, and when we parted it was in a civilized way. I even drove you home! What are you reproaching me?"

"You cheat! You deceiver! I cursed the day I've ever listened to you!"

"But…"

"YOU RUINED ME!" screamed Amanda at the top of her lungs. "YOU RUINED MY FAMILY AS WELL. MY PARENTS ARE SO ASHAMED THAT THEY DON'T DARE TO COME OUT OF THE HOUSE!"

"What? Oh my God… You got pregnant?"

A harsh laughter followed Tony's question.

"Pregnant? Sperm is needed for that and your performance in bed was quite pitiful, DiNozzo! Why, I recited my cooking book in my head while you were busy groaning and grunting in the most ridiculous way. To think you pride yourself to be the new Italian stallion… All the women you dated at NCIS have been laughing behind your back and you're too stupid to realize that!"

"You're lying!"

"Don't tell me about lies, DiNozzo! You have no right to play the outraged party after what you've done."

"But what have I done?"

"**YOU LIED ABOUT McGEE! YOU SAID HE WAS GAY AND IT WASN'T TRUE!"**

Tony's face turned from red to white as he remembered overhearing Amanda expressing her interest toward the computer tech while talking with some colleagues from Legal, years ago. Refusing to be surpassed by a geek and revolted by the thought the blonde bombshell would grant her favors to the Probie, DiNozzo had resorted to one of his favorite weapons (calumny) to reveal 'in confidence' that Tim preferred men. Amanda's disappointed face was still a vivid souvenir in his mind and Tony may have felt a tad guilty about lying to her but then again, he was certain that dinner and sex would compensate. Later, Amanda and he had drifted apart but Tony had not minded: his reputation as _"NCIS' super-stud"_ had grown exponentially whereas McGee had remained in the dust, getting only psychos or crybabies as girlfriends. Getting Amanda's number in his cell phone had been worth a little lie!

"Look, Amanda…"

"**YOU ROTTEN LIAR!"**

"Hey, turn it down, okay? So yeah, I've fed you a story about McGee but it was for your own good. The man's a complete klutz when it comes to women and you would have been bored to tears from listening to him talking about computers and programs and technology whatnots all day long. I'm a far better choice for you and…"

"Disgusting double-faced jerk!" growled Amanda, her eyes flashing in anger.

"Oh, what's all this fuss about? I've treated you royally, haven't I? And don't give me this nonsense about ruining your family: I've never met your folks!"

"**YOU DESTROYED MY BROTHER!"**

"What?"

"**My brother Joe! **After you told me about McGee, I went home in tears and Joe wouldn't leave me alone before I'd tell him what was the matter. I foolishly told him how disappointed I was because a man I wanted to date was gay, and then Joe got the idea stuck inside his head that he had to 'avenge' me, simply because I've been stupid enough to believe in your lies. He and his moronic friends tried to corner McGee in the parking lot and beat him to a pulp; they would be granted medals for services to the community, Joe said! Thankfully his buddies were too drunk to carry on with the plan the first two times, but Joe got angry so he beat up a student who was accused of being gay – and he nearly killed him!"

"Carl Simmons," whispered Tim inside the closet. Ziva glanced at him, worried that Amanda's revelations would prompt her _ahouve_ to intervene in this drama.

"I begged Joe to stop but his cronies were so impressed by his exploits with the student that they decided to finish the business with McGee. They wouldn't allow a 'stinking fag' to pollute the armed forces by his mere presence and my brother was too happy to see them in such good spirits. But the third time they tried to ambush McGee, they got caught by MPs and one of Joe's friends, a lousy little cockroach by the name of Henry Symes, confessed on the spot of having targeted a student and a Federal Agent simply because they were rumored to be homosexuals. McGee testified at the trial and my brother was condemned to ten years of jail for having assaulted the student. It broke my mother's heart; she's been living on pills ever since! My father turned to the bottle!"

"But I… I never knew… McGee never spoke about the trial… I've only learned the Carl Simmons business at the review board…" babbled Tony.

"Did you honestly think the NCIS bigwigs wanted the media to know there were liars within our ranks?" asked Amanda venomously. "Did you think Director Morrow wanted to lose his chances of getting a topnotch job simply because one of his agents is a stinking storyteller, and would have compromised NCIS' reputation of respecting the DADT policy? Morrow arranged things so the trial would be held behind closed doors and he ordered McGee to remain quiet about it, otherwise he would have taken his badge. Same thing for me, or I would have lost my job and I'm the only remaining breadwinner in our family, since my parents are so ashamed that they live like recluses!"

Ziva could hardly believe her own ears; she would never have imagined Tony's lies would have such consequences for Amanda, but also for Tim – and, once again, her special man had to dealt with the whole matter on his own, getting no help whatsoever from his teammates of his Boss. Gibbs would have ordered Tim to stay quiet as well; Tony would have denied his responsibilities; and Kate – from what Ziva had heard of her – had not been of the supportive kind. Then, Ziva remembered laughing after Tony had played a prank on Tim, and the very thought filled her with shame. She squeezed the young man's fingers and he answered the same way.

Amanda stepped towards Tony; her face was a cold mask of fury and her eyes giving him the death stare.

"I've longed for revenge ever since, 'DiNavel', and for years I've waited for the right opportunity to come. But the waiting was hard, since you benefited from that bastard Gibbs' protection and also from Director Sheppard's. She would hardly blame the _protégé_ of her love interest, now, would she? And you never suspected a thing, you inconsiderate jerk: it never crossed your tiny mind that **your** lies could have had terrible consequences for **my** brother and my family, but also for that poor student. But even if you had known, it wouldn't have changed a thing and besides, a mere accountant is no match for a Super-Federal-Agent such as yourself, eh? I thought I'd go mad from the injustice you've caused and then, salvation came, in the form of that knife-throwing Israeli woman."

"ZIVA?" asked a stunned Tony. "But what has she got to do with…?"

Amanda snickered madly, as alcohol and anger were making a dangerous mix for her brains.

"I was working overtime to pay my parents' bills, and I was walking in the hallway near the morgue the night when Doctor Mallard summoned you there, with Gibbs, Palmer and Sam Elliott… I overheard everything. About you attacking Elliott, lying to McGee's face once again, and how you were glowing with pride for having fooled your colleague again… I hid just in time when David came up to the morgue and I even witnessed the destruction that crazy woman made after hearing about your courageous actions in the MTAC room!"

Tony's face turned from white to livid and it enhanced the red imprint of Amanda's hand on his cheek.

"No… Oh no, Amanda! Don't tell me you were the one who…"

"Revenge is a dish best served cold, DiNozzo. Isn't it what they say in those lousy Mafia movies you love so much? Well, here's another quote for you: _"Revenge is sweet, especially for women!"_"

Amanda suddenly bellowed: **"YES, I'M THE ONE WHO TOLD ON YOU TO H.R., YOU REVOLTING LIAR! I RATTED YOU OUT AND THE REVIEW BOARD DEMOTED YOU AND I'M F****** GLAD I DID…"**

The drawing-room's door opened with a bang, letting in an angry Director Vance. The dark-skinned man had been wondering what all that racket was about and as soon as he had heard DiNozzo's name being mentioned, he had understood trouble was at hand and he had to put an end to it before Gibbs would return from his trip to the ladies' room. Sciuto had felt sick while dancing and she had requisitioned Gibbs to help her while she puked her guts out, regardless of the fact men were not supposed to go to ladies' rooms. Vance had rolled his eyes at this new display of Abby-crying-for-assistance but, in retrospect, he was glad the ex-Marine was busy with a drunken Goth for the moment so he would not interfere to protect his heir apparent.

"Agent DiNozzo! Miss Drucker! I could hear you from the reception room. Dare I ask what is going on?"

Tony remained rooted on the spot, his mind reeling by the blonde woman's declaration. Amanda had denounced him to H.R.; she had told the higher powers about the little stunt he had pulled at MTAC; she had ratted him out. She had betrayed him! Never, in all his life, had Tony imagined that one of his ex-girlfriends would seek revenge against him while he was innocent of all blame. After all, it was not his fault if Amanda's brother was a gay-hater? He could not be held responsible for her telling Joe about McGee's being rumored to be homosexual? He certainly did not encourage Joe or his friends to be gay-bashers! Neither did he forced Amanda's father to become a drunk nor her mother to pop pills in her mouth all day along. No, it had not been his fault if Amanda and her worthless relatives had no sense of humor!

"Agent DiNozzo, I want an answer! What on Earth is going on?"

"Nothing, Sir," muttered Tony. "It's just a bad case of a woman who cannot hold her liquor."

Amanda busted out crying; excesses of alcohol had worn her to the bone and all her belligerence vanished, leaving only a broken woman who had to work for three persons while her brother was in lock-up. She constantly needed money and, even though she saved on everything – including rent, by living with her parents again – there was barely enough money for food and, sometimes, not at all to send packages to Joe. She had debts everywhere; her friends could not help her out; her latest loan application had been rejected by the bank. And all that because she had believed DiNozzo's lies!

Vance was no fool, and he quickly understood DiNozzo and Drucker had a major falling-out. However, the wedding of Doctor and Mrs. Palmer was not the best place to sort the matter and Gibbs could come anytime, rushing to the aid of his Senior Agent with the discretion of an enraged elephant. With a no-nonsense tone, the Director ordered Tony to get out of the drawing-room and to keep his mouth shut about the whole incident, otherwise there would be Hell to pay! Happy to oblige, the Senior Agent walked out without sparring a glance at the crying woman, and headed for the men's bathroom in the hopes that a splash of cold water from the washstands would help him erase the mark of Amanda's hand on his face.

"Miss Drucker, I'm going to escort you out and you are going to take a cab home. Once you'd feel better, we will have a conversation in my office. Are we clear?"

Amanda nodded, her face buried into a fresh paper tissue. Vance walked her out of the drawing-room and turned about to close the door but then, he stopped on his tracks and looked around. He could have sworn there was a scent of roses and lily-of-the-valley floating in the room but that was strange, considering there was not a flower in sight. Then, the Director shrugged and closed the door as he was in a hurry to get Drucker out of the restaurant before she had another argument with Agent DiNozzo.

Inside the closet, Tim whispered softly: "Confucius once said, _"__Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves."_"

TBC…


	90. A passion 3

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- Tim and Ziva's love scene… Poetic, not graphic – and with humorous comments from Jet!

- The Biblical quote is from Proverbs 26:11.

_- Horresco referens_ ("I shiver while narrating") is a Latin quote from the _Aeneid_ (II, 204), written between 29 – 19 BC by Publius Vergilius Maro, or Virgil (70 BC – 19 BC) (from Wikipedia).

- The language of flowers (or floriography) is a means of cryptological communication through the use or arrangement of flowers (from Wikipedia).

- To Henrietta: I also wonder what public safety would be at the hands of overgrown teenagers… Thank goodness it doesn't happen in RL!

- To RedDragen: Tim and Ziva have come a long way but nothing will tear them apart.

- To Vicki: Amanda had her revenge but it didn't help her as she is still broke and trapped in a disastrous family situation. Abby will get her comeuppance soon!

- To None: Amanda's story will certainly bite Tony on the posterior, and he will get a reality check of what the women at NCIS really think about him.

- To Cree: thank you for your enthusiasm!

- To earthdragon: Tony definitively needs a real friend and mentor to straighten him out, instead of letting him act like an uncaring jerk.

- To Animelvr: I hope you will enjoy this new chapter, too!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 89: A passion 3<strong>

Only after they were certain that the coast was clear, did Tim and Ziva step out of the closet. They were both shaken by what they had accidentally witnessed: Tony doing his usual _'inflating-his-merits-until-he-turned-into-a-montgolfiere'_ act; Amanda's sharp accusations puncturing a hole into Tony's ego; the sad, hissed account of a family in turmoil; her want for vengeance; and Director Vance had deflated the scene by sending both protagonists back to their respective corners. It had been a painful moment to endure but luckily, it had not happened in the reception room, in front of newlyweds Jimmy and Breena and all the dancing guests. Only Tony, Amanda and spies-in-hiding Tim and Ziva had witnessed the scene – nonetheless, the damage was heavy: doubtless DiNozzo and Drucker would have to explain this outburst in Vance's office and past incidents would re-surface, in spite of the conjugated efforts of former Director Morrow and the late Director Sheppard to sweep the whole matter under the carpet... at McGee's expenses.

Tim would not help but have mixed feelings about all this; his forgiving nature could not approve of Amanda's actions to avenge herself and her relatives by denouncing Tony to H.R., thus giving review board members enough ammunition to wreck the Senior Agent's career. He could also not be compassionate towards Joe Drucker, who had targeted him simply because gay-bashing was in fashion amongst losers and he had wrongly thought beating up innocents would make him a man.

On the other hand, Tim felt bad for Amanda and her parents, collateral victims of Tony's lies and Joe's nastiness. Mr. and Mrs. Drucker must have been devastated after learning their son was a coward leaguing with other cowards, preying in the shadows like rats and ambushing defenseless victims. Overwhelmed with shame, Mr. and Mrs. Drucker had unwisely resorted to pills and booze, rending them to be unable to support themselves. They must have turned to their daughter for money and Amanda, wrecked with guilt for having mentioned office gossip to her brother, had felt obligated to help her parents. Drained for finances, Amanda had champed at the bit for years, stuck in a dead-end job in the same agency where her nemesis worked every day. The woman must have dreamed for a way to get even with Tony for years and then, after having accidentally overheard the causes of Ziva's rampage at the morgue, she had thought her wish for revenge had finally been granted – without realizing that her denunciation would damage her career as much as Tony's. It was the saddest incident Tim had ever witnessed, and he truly hoped he could have a word with Vance about it to rectify the situation.

Ziva was seething with anger, and only the fact she did not want to leave McGee, not even for a second, was stopping her from running to the reception room and give DiNozzo a piece of her mind. Tony, you _tipèche_ (imbecile)! What on Earth had possessed him to act so stupidly? Deliberately spreading false rumors about somebody's sexual preferences? Talk about conspiring to have someone killed by narrow-minded idiots! Tim could have been seriously injured, just like that poor student Amanda mentioned – or, even worse, he could have been killed by the blows of a group of jackals. What would have happened next? Director Morrow would have presented half-hearted condolences to indifferent Admiral and Mrs. McGee while self-satisfied Tony, Kate and Gibbs would be comforted in their opinion that Tim had been 'too weak' to be a federal agent, otherwise he would not have been overpowered by muggers. Abby would have made a fuss about Tim's death, of course, but mostly regretting that her lapdog would not be around anymore to satisfy her passing fancies! But what about Sarah, and Mrs. Penny? They would have been utterly destroyed learning their brother and grandson had met such a fate. Destroyed, just like Mr. and Mrs. Drucker!

And yet, the idea of dangerous repercussions on an innocent man had never crossed Tony's mind; he had slandered Tim's sexuality, his phobias, his tastes, simply because he had been afraid of being bested by the computer tech. Tony could have realized many times the consequences of his silly jokes a thousand times over but he had kept on ridiculing Tim in a vain attempt to rein in his own insecurities. A proverb from the Bible came to Ziva's mind: _"__As a dog returns to his vomit, so a fool repeats his folly__"_ and it seemed to fit DiNozzo's behavior like a glove!

But why would have Tony worry about consequences? He was Gibbs' adopted son and _protégé_ and this status made him untouchable. Neither Morrow nor Sheppard would have dared to reprimand Tony for his attitude, allowing the Senior Agent to act as he pleased. No one at NCIS had cared about a lowly probationer being deliberately endangered by a colleague; besides, if said probationer ended up at the morgue, it would have been entirely his fault for having been a civilian in the first place…

… _And she would never have met Tim._

Ziva gasped at that horrible thought; still holding the bride's bouquet in one hand, she reached out to grab Tim's and pressed his fingers tightly. To think this brilliant, gallant, loyal man could have fallen victim of a mean prank snowballing into attempted murder… It had been a 'closed' call!

Tim smiled and squeezed back Ziva's hand. He could see the beautiful woman was angry enough to go back to the party and knock Tony's teeth out one after another, and he certainly did not want their special moment to be spoiled by an outburst of Mossad-trained anger. He gently brushed his fingers along Ziva's face, and claimed her lips for another loving kiss. The young woman moaned and she felt her ire, and then her spine, melt away like ice under the sun. Tim was passionate and gentle at the same time and when he kissed her, it felt like a gentle spring shower blessing the earth so flowers could bloom in glory. He was so kind, so caring, so… _human_, that is was impossible to remain angry in his presence for long. The kiss deepened, igniting a fire within Ziva; the closeness of Tim's muscled body against hers, his strong hands caressing her face, his eyes shining like emeralds…

She wanted him.

He wanted her.

They were in love.

And no one would stand in their way.

The kiss ended with a small moan from Ziva, as if she was mourning the loss of her special man's lips on hers. It made Tim smile, and he whispered:

"Ziva, _ani ohev otach."_

"Tim, _ani ohevet otcha_."

McGee took Ziva's hand again and kissed the dorsal, like a gentleman would do to a lady in nineteenth-century London. Muffled music and laughter could still be heard in the background from the wedding party but the couple was suddenly seized by an urgent need to be **together**, in a **quiet** place, and safe from any **interruption**. They had truly enjoyed the ceremony and had wished the best for Jimmy and Breena but after having professed their love, they felt as if the wedding had suddenly become suffocating. The drawing-room had become too small and they definitively did not want to spend the rest of the evening in a closet!

"Ziva… I think we should leave the restaurant, and go somewhere else where we would not have to hide."

"I agree, _ahouve_."

Tim had a sly smile before asking: "How do you say _"magnificent"_ in Hebrew?"

"It's "_néhédérète"_", answered the ex-Mossad with her eyes sparkling like jet stones under the sun.

"Well, _néhédérète_ Ziva, would you like us to go to my flat so I can tell you how much _ani ohev otach_?"

"You are making good progresses in Hebrew, _ahava chély_."

"I have a beauteous teacher."

At the same instant, a knock on the drawing-room's door startled the young couple – but they felt instant relief after hearing the newcomer's distinguished voice asking from the other side of the wooden panel:

"Timothy? Ziva Dear? May I come in?"

Thanks goodness. It was Ducky!

"Please do, Ducky!"

The door opened and indeed, it was Doctor Donald Mallard, looking a bit flustered. The elderly M.E. was holding a silvery handbag that Ziva recognized as her own; she had left it on the dinner table when she had joined the group of unmarried women waiting for Breena's bouquet, and then she had completely forgotten about it after Ducky had advised her to go to this room under the pretext to find a vase… and doubtless he had also told Tim to go to this particular drawing-room. The smart old fox!

"Ah, my dears, I am glad to find you here. Please forgive my intrusion but I would like to advise you to leave this restaurant promptly."

"Why? What happened?" asked Tim.

"Well, apparently Anthony had a row with a young lady, leaving him furious and vexed. He is currently drowning his sorrows in the reception room with glasses of alcohol consumed too quickly for comfort, making me worry about an accelerated state of inebriation and its inevitable consequences, in the lines of talking too much or too loud, with fatal repercussions upon his career and his reputation. Under the influence, one can dwell on past mistakes and, knowing Anthony, it won't be long before he starts putting the blame of his woes on somebody else – namely you, Timothy. Since neither you nor Ziva are willing to listen patiently to nonsense, it will end up with a fistfight and I really, really want to spare Doctor and Mrs. Palmer from such a deplorable sight during their wedding."

"We want to protect them too, Ducky," said Ziva. Tim discreetly searched for her hand through the folds of her red dress and squeezed it gently.

"Quite! And there's also the matter of Abigail…"

"Oh, my God… What has she done now?" asked Tim, worried that the Lab Rat was still making a scene about the flowers.

Ducky rolled his eyes heavenwards: "_Horresco referens_! Abigail tried to mend her wounded pride after having failed to catch Breena's bridal bouquet, simply by dancing like a woman possessed. However, dancing is known to cause thirst and she tried to solve the problem by drinking champagne from her glass – or from other guests', and in spite of their protestations. But the dizzying effects of champagne, coupled with the momentum of the dance, proved it to be too much for Abigail's stomach. She turned as white as a sheet before running to the ladies' room with Jethro at her heels. He assisted her during her bouts of regurgitation but alas, a woman did not appreciate the presence of a man in a place strictly reserved for the opposite gender. Slaps, insults, accusations of perversity, threats to call the police… All in one, Director Vance had to stop the fight and he was not too happy about it, especially since he had just finished with Anthony. Not to forget Abigail's stomach emptying its contents on the outraged lady's shoes, to make matters worse…"

"Oh, no…"

"Oh, yes! Anyway, I think it wise for both of you to leave the premises, since the revelation of your relationship will neither please Anthony nor Abigail and, considering the state they are both in, the situation can only degenerate. I took the liberty to retrieve your purse containing your personal belongings and a few sharpened arguments from our table, my dear," said the M.E. while giving Ziva the handbag. "I also discreetly informed Dr. and the new Mrs. Palmer that you had truly enjoyed yourselves at the party but you had to go, and they wish you both well. Dr. Palmer asked me to tell Timothy that he has been a fantastic Best Man, and Breena openly rejoice from the fact Ziva has caught her bouquet."

Tim and Ziva exchanged a knowing look, and this sight made Ducky's heart swell inside his chest. He had a hard time not to appear too pleased with himself for having brought together those two lovebirds!

"Now, as I was saying, it is high time you both make your escape. Are your cars parked nearby?"

"Yes," said Tim and Ziva at unison.

"Very well, my dears. I will leave you now, and arrange things to keep Jethro and Director Vance busy for another five minutes," said Ducky as he turned about the leave the drawing-room. "It should give you enough time to reach your respective vehicles and enjoy the rest of the evening undisturbed."

"Ducky! Wait…," said Ziva. She walked towards the M.E. and took a white rose out of the bouquet she was holding. She slipped the flower inside the buttonhole of Ducky's jacket lapel, and kissed the elderly man on the cheek.

"Thank you for your help, Ducky."

The Scottish man blushed like a teenager from this display of affection, and he vainly tried to hide his pleasure by mentioning a little story: "In the language of flowers, the white rose symbolizes secrecy. Rest assured, my dears, that your secret is safe with me. Although I have to confess waiting impatiently for the day you will reveal your love for the whole world to see!"

Ducky exited the drawing-room, and Tim pressed a brief kiss on Ziva's full lips.

"He's right, we should leave. Do you want to go to my place, or yours?"

"Your flat is closer and I don't want to wait any longer."

"My place, then," said Tim with a sexy smile.

"Lead the way, _ahouve_."

* * *

><p><em>At Tim's flat…<em>

Jet, comfortably curled in his bed, let out a loud sigh; it had been hours since his favorite human had left him and the dog was feeling lonely.

Of course, he was used to long absences from "Teem"; the man often left their shared territory at sunrise and would not come back until after sunset – and Jet had to make go with "Ma-hike" coming to get him for the daily walk, along with nine other dogs. Jet liked the walks but having to endure the presence of the stupid mutts he was tied with could be tedious at times: for instance, that moronic Bobby still had not understood that he frightened human younglings in four-wheeled chairs by trying to lick their faces. There was also that stupid Kingsley who barked too much and Spike who constantly munched at his leash: no sense of dignity, the both of them. Petula was all right, just like Joe, Lady and Poppet but Liang the Pekingese was an irritating snob. As for Patton, he thought too highly of himself for having scared off a burglar in his younger days – big deal!

Jet wondered if he should go to the window and take a peek outside, but he decided against it; he knew it was late – the flat was dark, with only a feeble light coming from the streets – so it was useless to hope for a round of 'fetch' in the park or even a trip to the supermarket. He should sleep but the dog could not help but worry if "Teem" would return or not; after his stay at "Andee", Jet had become nervous at the thought of not knowing his master's whereabouts. Sure, there had been times in the past when "Teem" had not come home at all, leaving Jet to expect only "Ma-hike" and the others for a bit of company – but it had not occurred often and besides, his favorite human always returned in the end. But the wait at "Andee" had been long, so long…

All of a sudden, Jet's ears picked up a sound. It would have been inaudible for human ears, but the dog's keen sense of hearing could detect the slightest murmur within the building and he recognized the sound immediately. It was the noise of the building's garage door opening to let in – or out – one of those moving metallic structures "Teem" called a "kar". So, a human had opened the garage door? That was interesting news but Jet tried to rein in his hopes: there were plenty of other humans in the building who knew how to open this door.

Like a good guarding dog, Jet kept his senses on the alert; a moment later, he grinned as he recognized another sound: the "leeft", that strange contraption at the end of the hallway, was moving inside its column of concrete. There! It had stopped at the level of their shared territory. Jet got out of his basket, his sense of smell picking up the familiar scent of his favorite human. Overwhelmed with happiness, Jet scampered about to the front door with the firm attention to give "Teem" an unforgettable welcome but another scent raised the alarm in Jet's mind. His nose had smelt another scent alongside his master's: also human, but female, and mixed with a flowery perfume. There were two kinds of footsteps walking down the corridor, one light, the other louder. And there was a murmur of voices… Jet recognized "Teem" at once but it took him a few minutes to identify the other one, since he had not heard it for a good while.

"_Zee-va"?_

Jet remembered the female human who had come to their shared territory early one morning, just before the long absence of "Teem". They had shared food together and "Zee-va" had briefly nestled against his master before leaving. The German shepherd had thought it an odd comportment but maybe it was the way male and female humans interacted.

Another scent hit the dog's nose, and his brown eyes widened in astonishment.

_Pheromones._

Jet had not come down in the last litter, and was perfectly aware of the sexual activities in his own species – he was intact, and more than one had he found a partner in that special spot in the park, between the lavatories' building and a hedge. As for human relations, the dog perfectly remembered the revolting spectacle of his horrid former owners trying to reproduce in the most ridiculous way, grunting, shouting and laughing too loud, especially after having inhaled the white powder that was scattered all around the house and had nearly drove him crazy. No younglings had resulted of it, but it was bound to happen when mating out of season.

After having been adopted by "Teem", Jet had scented when the human had been interested by females but strangely, his master had never brought a partner to their home. It had been puzzling for the dog: what was the use of having a territory if no females could come to try and have descendants? But "Teem" would come back home looking shaken, or sad, or even discouraged; Jet had concluded that the females his master had been interested in were bad partners and the relations had ended abruptly. The dog would not have minded to track down said partners and bite their posteriors, to teach them a lesson for having messed with his favorite human!

But this time, the scent of pheromones was strong and Jet remembered that it was springtime. Well, no wonders!

The door opened, and indeed, it was "Zee-va" stepping inside the flat while carrying flowers, followed closely by "Teem". The German shepherd was happy to see his master again but his instincts told him it was not the time to jump up and down and lick faces, like he was accustomed to do. Instead, he sat down on the carpet in his best 'well-behaved dog' attitude and let out a gentle bark of welcome.

"Hi, Jet. How are you, buddy?" asked "Teem" as he petted the German shepherd's head.

"He's a good dog, isn't he?" said "Zee-va" while leaving the flowers on the nearest table.

"He is!"

"He has a wonderful owner."

Jet watched as the two humans locked their months together, making him briefly wonder how they could breathe while being pressed so close. Then, the dog saw "Zee-va" tugging at shiny thingies near her ears and the long dark hair she sported on her head was released, making "Teem" moan in appreciation. Items started to fall on the floor: his master's dark jacket, the leathery things "Zee-va" had on her feet and Jet remembered that humans usually shed their removable fur (called "clo-zes") before starting the reproduction process. The couple went into "Teem's" room and the door was slammed shut. Jet understood the gesture: a special spot was needed and the room would be the perfect place for that.

The German shepherd yawned widely; it was getting late and he could finally sleep now that his master was home. But instead of going back to his comfy blanket, Jet turned round before lowering himself on the soft carpet in front of the bedroom's door, rested his head on his front legs and closed his eyes, a guard dog on duty.

No one would disturb his favorite _humans_ during their mating!

* * *

><p><em>(Later)<em>

Ziva's eyes fluttered open and for a second, she did not recognize the room she was in, the bed she was lying on. But the gentle, regular breathing against her neck, the strong body pressed tightly against her, the arm lying across her bare bosom made her remember in a snap what had happened the previous hours.

It had been extraordinary. Simply extraordinary.

Ziva sighed in contentment at the recollection of her _ahouve_ kissing her so passionately it had set her whole being on fire; Tim undressing her with such reverence that she had nearly cried; his green eyes filled with admiration while staring at her nude silhouette; his hands, caressing her everywhere… His lips, venerating every inch of her body!

The young woman had never felt anything like this before. She had had relationships with colleagues from Mossad during her life in Israel, men of the one-night-stand kind who had been respectful (they knew better than to cross Eli David's daughter) but hollow. After she had settled in DC, Ziva had dated CIA Agent Ray – much to Tony's fury – but the relationship had broken up after a few months. She had never imagined she would be allowed to fall in love, not in the dangerous world she lived so she had renounced to the idea of ever finding a good man and build a future with him. It had been heartbreaking, but Ziva had thought it inevitable when working firstly as a Mossad officer, secondly as an American federal agent. Lovers could betray; families could be threatened; children could be abducted. She had thought that remaining celibate and unattached was safer for her colleagues and herself until a miracle had occurred, in the form of shy but tenacious Timothy McGee.

She slowly removed Tim's arm and rolled on her side, looking at her special man who was still lost in his dreams. His godlike body displayed against the bed sheets was so handsome, a perfect example of male beauty! But his advantageous physique was not the only reason Tim was a fantastic lover: it was because he _cared_. He had awakened in Ziva a myriad of new sensations when he had touched her, pleasured her and she had felt something that she had never experienced before… She had felt _cherished_.

Ziva's combative nature had made her want to give as much as she was receiving and her nimble fingers had drove Tim to the edge of madness. She had caressed his muscled frame thoroughly, kissed his tanned skin until his green eyes had went completely dark from desire, explored his manliness until he had begged for mercy.

They were not only having sex. They were _making love_, and the intensity of their embrace had been overwhelming.

And when Tim had made her his…

Ziva sighed while the souvenir of their union was replayed in her mind. It had been magical, out of this world. She remembered her beloved's face hovering above her, his eyes full of passion, his body leaning against her as they connected in the most intimate, sumptuous way. The feeling of a sweet invasion had quickly transformed into a firestorm of sensuality as the undulations of their joined bodies had steadily went crescendo, decupling sensations that had shaken her to the core. Tim had shouted _"Ani ohev otach!"_ over and over again and then his back had arched like a wave crashing against a cliff. His beauty had become inexpressible and Ziva had felt her body become stronger and firmer. She had dug her fingers into Tim's back, drawing his narrow hips ever closer to hers, giving everything to her man. Ecstasy had seized them at the same supreme moment, Tim roaring his release to the sky while Ziva screamed her _ahouve_'s name at the top of her lungs. They had climaxed in an explosion of blinding light, in a tornado of extreme pleasure bonding them through pure love and devouring lust, unleashing the primal beasts within them and not giving a care about it. The entire world had disappeared and there was only Tim, the man who had shattered her defenses, the keeper of her heart, her soul mate who was pouring his love in her.

Ziva had never lost the control of herself, not once in her life but Tim had this effect on her. It had been frightening and thrilling at the same time and yet, Ziva was not afraid: she knew he would not use it against her; in fact, he was the only person in the world she could entrust with this kind of power.

She had never reached a pleasure of this level, too and it had been an astonishing revelation. Ziva remembered how Tim had fallen into her arms, panting like a marathon runner. She had felt his heartbeat against hers and it had brought her back on Earth with a smile, prompting her to kiss her _néhédérète_ man. He had kissed her in return before gently removing himself and then they had fallen asleep, completely spent from the lovemaking, not even bothering to grab a blanket.

Tim suddenly became agitated in his sleep and Ziva realized he was unconsciously troubled by the fact he was no longer holding her. Smiling, she snuggled back against him, appreciating the heat coming from his muscled frame. Tim wrapped his arms around her and mumbled "_My Ziva…"_ as he returned to an undisturbed slumber.

In the bedroom, three words were heard before silence reigned at last.

_Ani ohevet otcha._

TBC…


	91. A passion 4

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- "Hee laugheth best that laugheth to the end" is a quote from the play _Christmas Prince_, first performed in Cambridge around 1608.

- "Venus Anadyomene" means _"Venus rising from the sea"_ in Greek.

- The poem _"How do I love thee"_ is from English poet Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806 – 1861) (from Wikipedia)

- To MarkyV: thank you for your kind words! Rest assured those who have underestimated Tim will see the errors of their ways.

- To Ananas: I am glad you liked the love scene.

- To RedDragen: hope you will enjoy this new chapter as much as the last one!

- To Guest: another chapter with a love scene between Tim and Ziva? Keep on reading!

- To earthdragon: please do not worry about Amanda, she will make a 'clean break' and be offered a transfer, far from her blockhead brother.

- To cree: thank you for your review! It is nice to know you are enjoying the story.

- To None: it was fun writing from Jet's POV, and rest assured he will protect his favorite humans and their younglings! ;o)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 90: A passion 4<strong>

Ziva hummed a happy tone while she was standing naked in the bathtub, enjoying the warm water pouring from the shower head. It was early Sunday morning but old habits were hard to break and the young woman was used to wake up at dawn, even after a tiring night.

After all the dancing and drinking and celebration of Jimmy and Breena's wedding, doubtless a good portion of the guests was going to wake up in the wrong beds this morning – too hungover to remember anything and too tired to ask questions about what had happened. Just like in a romantic comedy, those guests would walk down the streets with their best clothes in complete disarray, shoes in hand, trying vainly to remember where they have parked their cars while hoping for an early cab driver to come their ways. Then, once they would be safely home, they fell down on their beds without a care for their best clothes and sleep the alcohol away, spending the whole Sunday in a semi-comatose state in front of the TV – or trying to get their wits together with endless cups of coffee if they had been gifted with energy-filled children. Monday morning would arrive way too soon and the guests would chat about the wedding all day along, sharing photos or anecdotes before resuming work while Dr. and Mrs. Palmer would be off for their honeymoon, the celebration being reduced to an unforgettable memory.

Ziva smiled at the thought; the other guests at the wedding would probably feel tired this Sunday, but she certainly did not! How could she, after having spent the night in the arms of her _ahouve_?

She took a bottle of shampoo from the caddy hanging from the shower head, poured some of the liquid in the palm of her hand and put it on her long dark hair. Nice-smelling bubbles instantly appeared under the spray of hot water and Ziva sighed in contentment, happy to feel clean again – with the extra bonus that she would smell like Tim! In spite of Gibbs and Tony's sarcasms, the computer tech had been keen on taking care of his skin with hand lotions and non-aggressive shower gels and shampoos, and Ziva knew that Tim would not mind her using his products, being the generous soul he was.

She rinsed the shampoo off her hair and started washing her body with a soap smelling of almonds and shea butter. Tim was still asleep in the bedroom, worn out by the love he had honored her all night and Ziva had a smile at the recollection of having woken up in the arms of her _ahouve_, his face so close to hers', his hand resting on her bosom, covering her heart. Tim had looked so young, so innocent when he was sleeping… Even the scars he sported on his body – including the one on his forehead – had appeared less visible and the woman secretly hoped the love they shared would give them the strength to embrace the future together where nothing, not even death, would do them part. A violent feeling of protectiveness had seized her and Ziva had laid her hand on Tim's and whispered an oath to be only his, to slay any enemy who would be suicidal enough to touch one hair on her special man's head and to make Tim happy, every day of his life and beyond.

Then she had gently kissed McGee on the lips before removing his hand so she could get up and greet the new day. A part of her had wanted to stay forever in the bed with Tim but Ziva's dynamic nature would have been revolted by the thought of staying idle whereas she and Tim could do thousands of things together: having breakfast, walking with Jet in the park, enjoying the sunshine, talking, having lunch in a nearby café, relaxing, talking…

So she had gotten up and straightened up the room a bit – discarded clothes had been put on chairs, shoes pushed under a small table, used condoms thrown in the wastebasket – before opening the door… and she had nearly walked over Jet!

_(Flashback)_

_Ziva had barely the time to step out of the bedroom before her feet collided with something large, warm and furry. Only her Mossad-trained reflexes prevented her from falling flat on her face in the hallway by gripping the door's frame and once she regained her equilibrium, she nearly busted out laughing after she realized the huge 'doormat' she had nearly tripped on was, in fact, an eighty-pound dog lying on the carpet._

"_Jet! Oh my poor friend, I've nearly stomped on you!" had whispered Ziva, not wanting to wake up Tim by loud exclamations._

_Jet had taken no offence of having being bumped into by "Zee-va". It had been an accident, and the dog knew by experience that humans could not see well in the dark – the flat was plunged in semi-darkness, as the sun was just starting to color the Eastern horizon. Jet was satisfied that his guarding duties were over; since the female human had arisen, it could only mean "Teem" would be awake soon and the dog would not have to keep their special place safe. Jet had no idea the mating would last all night, though: it could produce a litter of seven, even maybe eight younglings!_

"_You good dog, you stayed here to guard us, didn't you? That's very kind of you," said Ziva while scratching Jet on the head, and the German shepherd let out a soft whine of appreciation. "Zee-va" was a smart female, a good mate for his master and she obviously liked Jet; the dog decided to grant her his protection, like he did with "Teem". He had now _two_ favorite humans and any fools trying to hurt them would understand their mistake, real soon._

_Ziva had reached out and hugged the dog, feeling like Eve embracing the first dog in the Garden of Eden. Burying her face in the fur of Jet's neck, she thanked her lucky stars for having being allowed to confess her love to Tim. She had been so afraid to have lost her _ahouve_ forever after hearing about Tony's lousy joke at MTAC, the abduction, and there had been the news of Tim being in a relationship with another woman… Ziva had thought for a moment that the whole world had conspired to prevent her from telling McGee that she loved him, body and soul! But it was all over now; Tim had kissed her, touched her, lay with her and, above everything else, he had told her he __**loved**__ her – and Tim was the most sincere person she had ever met. He was not a shallow man who would say _"I love you"_ without meaning it, just to get a partner in bed. For Tim, sex and sentiment were inextricably linked and, even though he had been laughed at for his 'naiveté' by inconsiderate colleagues and girlfriends, he had stuck to his principles – and he had won in the end, leaving the mockers in the dust. To quote the proverb: _"He who laughs last laugh the best" _and the young woman thought it applied perfectly to her special man._

_Releasing Jet, Ziva walked towards the bathroom with the intent of getting clean before cooking her _ahouve_ a good meal, leaving an approving Jet behind. The dog knew that personal grooming right after sleep was a sure sign that he would be able to go out soon to do his business, and afterwards he would be treated for a bowl of _Doggies' Delights_!_

_(End flashback)_

The soft contact of soap on her skin made Ziva remember Tim's caresses, his strong and gentle hands exploring her body, the contact of his lips kindling a storming fire within her soul… He had loved her thoroughly and with such intensity that they had reached the Seventh Heaven together, over and over again! The young woman had never felt anything like this before and it had been a revelation, an experience that had shattered her universe. The sensation of reaching perfect harmony, of being catapulted to the stars in a pure connection forged in love and passion… It had been overwhelming, like a thunderbolt of ecstasy illuminating her whole being and she knew Tim had felt the same way during their union.

Ziva had a hard time to refrain a bitter laugh at the recollection of Tony accusing Tim of being unable to satisfy women; of Abby stating that she would be the only one in Timmy's life; of all the fake girlfriends who had betrayed McGee and torn his heart into shreds without a backward glance…. Bunch of imbeciles! Loudmouthed fools who had snubbed the gentle, considerate computer tech they had judged to be "too soft" for real life… They were going to have the shock of their lives learning she and Tim were together but they had better watch out: she won't stand for any mockeries, even from Gibbs' favorites!

"Ziva?" called Tim as he knocked on the bathroom's door.

"I'm in the shower, Tim!"

The young man opened the door and asked almost shyly:

"May I come in, beauteous?"

"_Ahouve_, this is your place! Of course, you can come in."

Tim had a small chuckle as he entered the bathroom, and then he gently pushed open the shower's curtain.

His heart thumped inside his chest like a hammer at the sight of the dark-haired goddess standing under a spray of water. _Venus Anadyomene_…

Ziva had a sharp intake of breath as she looked at the beauty in front of her, the epitome of maleness. _Adonis_…

"_Ani ohev otach."_

"_Ani ohevet otcha."_

Tim stepped inside the bathtub and closed the curtain behind him…

Jet, who had greeted his master with a gentle growl and a licking of hands, had left to fetch his leash, which was at its usual place – curled in a small basket on the table near the entrance door. "Teem" was awake, meaning they would go outside shortly and Jet needed to renew the marking of his territory – one could not be too prudent, since there were some bad-behaved dogs around like that idiotic Hank, the Rottweiler, or even that flat-faced Buster the Bull-dog. Those mutts had to be reminded that there was a German shepherd in the neighborhood and they had better steer away from his master!

Eager to help his favorite human – who would be tired from his long night – the dog had wanted to get the leash by itself: he was tall enough to put his front paws on the table and adroitly grab the leash between his jaws without tipping over the basket and spilling its contents (like keys, subway tickets, coins...) on the floor. "Teem" always appreciated Jet's initiatives and doubtless he would reward him with an extra serving of _Doggies' Delights_… or even with a mouth-watering piece of jerky.

The retrieving of the leash went without a snag and Jet went straight back to the bathroom, holding the length of leather in his mouth. He would go out with "Teem" in a minute…

_But…!_

The dog suddenly stopped mid-way, the leash falling from his jaws. He could not believe what he was hearing!

_The regular rush of pouring water falling into the bathtub…_

_The drumming of droplets running on the shower curtain…_

_And, over the splashing sounds…._

_Moans… and sighs…_

Jet remained still for a minute and then, with a resigned sigh, he lied down on the corridor next to the bathroom's door, the forgotten leash discarded nearby.

Humans really were disconcerting creatures.

Mating in the water… What a strange idea!

* * *

><p><em>Later…<em>

The young couple had finally come out of the bathroom and they had been greeted by Jet with the leash in his mouth and expressing a growing discomfort. They had laughed heartily at the comical sight and then, Tim had taken pity on his pet and had donned a clean T-shirt, a pair of shorts and his jogging shoes before grabbing the leash and clicking it on the German shepherd's collar. Ziva, who was wearing Tim's bathrobe, had seized the opportunity to kiss her special man senseless, and only an impatient growl from Jet had stopped McGee from ravishing his love on the spot. Another kiss, the promise to come back soon and Tim had left the flat, his arm almost torn out of its socket by his dog tugging at the leash. Jet was very concerned by the fullness of his bladder!

Ziva decided to prepare breakfast; after all the activities they had done during the night, plus their _impromptu_ in the bathroom, she was famished and doubtless Tim was as well. She went to the kitchen and was relieved to see his fridge was filled with good food: there was milk, butter, yoghurts, eggs, cheese and apple compote, in enough quantities to feed an army. There were also fruits in a large plate placed on the kitchen counter, a basket hosting wholegrain slices of bread and Ziva found the coffee maker. In no time at all, breakfast was ready and Jet's supper dish was filled with _Doggies' Delights_. Ziva smiled at the domesticity of the scene but she did not mind it at all; in fact, she was thinking of how nice it would be if they could go jogging together, work together and spend their evenings together without a care in the world, enjoying each other's company with Jet as sole witness of their love…

She walked out of the kitchen, and then she saw something in the living-room that made her blood run cold.

_Cardboard boxes._

_About a half-dozen cardboard boxes._

Ziva crouched next to one of the boxes and took a peek inside: it was filled with books; same thing as the other one; the third box contained CDs and video games; the fourth had clothes carefully wrapped in transparent plastic, protecting them from dust and moths; another box of video games and the last one contained computer items, such as CD-ROMs and PC gamepads.

What could it mean? At first, Ziva thought Tim was in the process of making a garage sale, but one look at the box containing clothes made her realize she had made a mistake: Tim had written _**"Goodwill"**_ on the side of the box in bold, black letters so he intended to give the whole lot to the needy. A nice gesture from his part, for sure, but the ex-Mossad could not help but feel that something else was going on. Why would her _ahouve_ get rid of his books? Tim was an intellectual; he had built an extensive library over the years, spending a fortune in publications that would amuse or stimulate his brains. He counted his collection of books as his prized possession, so what had prompted him to give some of them away? Had he run out of bookcases?

A trampling of feet was heard in the hallway and Ziva got on her feet, a bit ashamed of herself for having poked around her man's things. If she wanted answers, she would just have to ask Tim: she did not have to act like an inquisitive Federal Agent with him!

She went back to the kitchen and, a moment later, the flat's front door opened in a jingle of keys.

"Ziva? We're back."

"Breakfast is ready!"

Jet rushed to the kitchen and buried his nose in his supper dish, leaving his humans to enjoy their meal. Tim wolfed down the fried eggs, fruit salad and yoghurt while Ziva savored a bowl of cold cereal, toasts with butter and strawberry jam, a boiled egg and a slice of melon. Thirst was drenched with perfect coffee or fruit juices and they felt their energy being re-boosted, making them ready to embrace whatever the new day had in store.

Ziva had never felt happier in all her life and she dreaded to ask the question that was burning her lips, but she knew she would never be in peace if she remained silent. So, after having gulped down another cup of coffee, she gathered her courage and grabbed Tim's hand before asking:

"Tim… I couldn't help but notice the cardboard boxes in your living-room. Why are you giving away your things? Not that I am criticizing, but I find it strange that you should give away your books, considering how much you love them."

McGee sighed and thought it was time to bite the bullet; he had been so overwhelmed by Ziva's love the previous night that he had completely forgotten to mention his departure for LA in a few weeks. Vance had told him to keep silent about his future transfer, in order to not be pestered by his soon-to-be-ex-teammates. As far as Gibbs, Tony and Abby knew, Tim was on vacation and attending sessions with Doctor Turner until she would declare him fit for duty – and this white lie had suited the young man well, even if it had earned him another bout of hazing from DiNozzo. But Ziva… She was another matter.

She was not only the goddess of love who had awakened extraordinary and unknown sensations throughout his body. Ziva was the one he adored, the mistress of his heart, she who had granted him a second chance by respectfully succeeding to Aimee; she had given him hope for the future and he wanted to share everything with her – but, at the same time, he was afraid. Asking Ziva to come to the West Coast with him would require a huge sacrifice from the young woman: she would have to leave her flat, her friends, her job in DC and Tim knew she had sweated blood to gain all this. Also, Vance may not agree to a transfer as he was still angry at Agent David for having disobeyed him. There was also the fact that she liked working with Gibbs: the ex-Marine was running his team with the harshness of a Drill Sergeant and Ziva, accustomed to military life, had easily stepped into the cadence – unlike clumsy Tim, who had to work for years to acquire the rhythm. Could he ask Ziva to drop everything she had earned just to follow him in his new career? Was he actually that selfish?

"Ziva… The reason I am giving those books and stuff to Goodwill is… Well… I have to tell you something and I am not certain that I should, because you will have to keep it a secret and it may be difficult for you."

"I promise not to tell a soul, _ahouve_," immediately answered the young woman, entwining her fingers with Tim's.

"I'd hate to put you in an impossible position…"

"You wouldn't do anything to hurt me, Tim. I love you and I have the utmost faith in you. Please tell me, _lève chély_ (my heart)."

McGee kissed the young woman's hand tenderly before saying:

"Ziva… After my return from Afghanistan, Vance summoned me in his office very early in the morning, remember? Well, we talked about my mission abroad and, most specifically, about the experience I've gained there. Bottom line is, I won't be able to work with Gibbs, DiNozzo and Sciuto anymore. I don't pretend to be a war veteran or to have witnessed as many horrible things as Gibbs and you have seen, but I know from the bottom of my heart that I have matured and thus, I won't have the patience to endure DiNozzo's banter or Sciuto's whines. Those two may pretend being rough and tough but the truth is, they are nothing but a couple of overgrown teenagers running to Gibbs at the first signs of trouble. As for Gibbs… I cannot forget his interference in my mission has resulted in the death of Aimee and my friends. Gibbs pretends that his harsh training is to turn us into strong, independent persons but that's a lie: he wants to control us, our work, our minds, our social lives, simply because he lives in fear of being alone again. He had never recovered from having lost his wife and daughter so he had created a new family, and I can understand that. What I cannot bear, however, is that constant meddling of his, with his silly set of rules, his so-called infallible experience as a Marine and the blatant favoritism he shows towards some members of his team, at the detriment of others."

Tim's eyes turned into hard emeralds and Ziva squeezed his fingers in approval. Her man was the gentlest in the world but he could stand his ground, if needed!

"Gibbs has _infantilized_ us and it has worked perfectly for DiNozzo and Sciuto; both of them venerate the ground on which he stands and they would be ready to do anything for their Lord and Master but then again, it is not surprising. DiNozzo and Sciuto have never grown out of adolescence and they are perfectly happy to live under the dragon's wing – well, fine for them! But my trip to a war zone has opened my eyes and I met other Marines, good people who treated me with respect even if I wasn't a sharpshooter sniper or a barrack's Casanova. I've met a leader who knew how to get the best of his men without resorting to sarcasms and insults. I worked with real professionals, people who actually _welcomed_ my skills instead of belittling them out of meanness or jealousy."

Tim looked at the ex-Mossad straight in the eyes: "I want to work with the same kind of persons but it won't happen if I stay in Team Gibbs, the level of puerility out there is too high. Even if I asked for a change of team, it wouldn't solve the problem: DiNozzo will slander my name all over the office in DC and Abby will make another one of her trademark scandals, yelling at the top of her lungs what an ingrate and a monster I am for having dared to leave her silver-haired fox. Vance and Doctor Turner agree on this: they both say I need a clean break to give my career a boost. In spite of the experience I've gained abroad, Gibbs will chain me to a desk in a snap so my knowledge won't put his favorites in the shade and I can't… I simply can't do this any longer."

"Tim…"

"Vance has me transferred to the West Coast. I'll be leaving for the LA team in a few weeks and that's the reason why I've been packing some of my stuff. No one besides you and Vance know about this transfer, but I think Ducky is suspecting something. I'll be working for Hetty Lange and I hope… I hope you will come with me."

Tim took both of Ziva's hands within his owns' and said:

"Ziva, come with me to LA. Please. I love you so much; I cannot bear the thought of being separated from you. I know this is selfish of me to ask so much from you, but…"

"_AHOUVE!"_

Tin suddenly found himself with a bathrobe-clad woman in his arms who was kissing the life out of him. She covered her mouth on his and their tongues dueled for a long moment until the need for air became too urgent to be ignored, and then Ziva said:

"You won't go to LA without me, Timothy McGee. _Ani ohevet otcha_ and I refuse to be separated from you, not even for a second."

"Oh, Ziva…"

"And no, you are not being selfish. You have merely spoken the truth: if you ever joined another team from the DC office, Tony and Abby will never leave you in peace. If you stay in Team Gibbs, you won't be sent in the field since Gibbs will force you to remain the computer tech, the one that has to stay behind to avoid offering Tony…"

"You mean _"offending"_, don't you?"

"That's right! And you don't have to endure this; you have proved more times than I can count that you are an excellent Federal Agent and what you need to shine is to get out of Gibbs' shadow – and there will be no better place to do this than under the Californian sun."

"And you… You would come to Los Angeles?"

"You'd have to kill me to stop me! Sure, I will miss my real friends – the ones I've made outside work – but you are the most important person of my life, _otsar chély_ (my treasure). I am ready to pack up my things, to beg Vance for a transfer; I'll even resign from NCIS if the Director refuses my demand… the only one who matter is you and I want to remain by your side. I love you, Timothy no-middle-name McGee."

"And I you, marvellous Ziva."

A kiss, and another one, and another one…

A T-shirt was left on one of the kitchen's chairs.

Jogging shoes were discarded in the hallway.

A pair of shorts was dropped on the bedroom's floor, along with a bathrobe.

The young couple fell on the ravaged bed, relishing on each other's bare beauty.

"Ziva…"

"Yes, _motèke chély_ (my darling)?"

Tim had a seductive smile, and then he recited:

"_How do I love thee? Let me count the ways._

_I love thee to the depth and breadth and height_

_My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight_

_For the ends of Being and ideal Grace._

_I love thee to the level of everyday's_

_Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light._

_I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;_

_I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise._

_I love thee with the passion put to use_

_In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith._

_I love thee with a love I seemed to lose_

_With my lost saints – I love thee with the breath,_

_Smiles, tears, of all my life! – and, if God choose,_

_I shall but love thee better after death."_

Their embrace was long, ardent and magnificent.

TBC…


	92. An assertion

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- Have a great spooky Halloween weekend!

- This is a romantic chapter with a twist at the end: yu be warned!

- "I am a rock" is a song by Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel from the 1966 album _Sounds of Silence_.

- The story from Plato is from his dialogue with Aristophanes found in _The Symposium_, written c. 385–370 BC (from Wikipedia).

- The Stromboli is a small island in the Tyrrhenian Sea, containing one of the three active volcanoes in Italy (from Wikipedia).

- To MomCat: _merci beaucoup_ for all the nice reviews you have posted. I am very pleased you are enjoying this story!

- To Jeika: thank you very much for your kind words.

- To reading-by-moonlight guest: it is nice to know you are burning the midnight oil to read this story. Abby can be extremely childish at times, especially when she doesn't get things her way and cries on Gibbs' shoulder.

- To Pallas Athena: good luck for your exams!

- To RedDragen: Tim and Ziva have a brilliant future together. As for Abby, I'm not so sure…

- To None: it is fun writing from Jet's POV and describe his perplexity about human behavior.

- To Guest: thank you! Jet will play another important role in an upcoming chapter.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 91: An assertion<strong>

After their mid-morning lovemaking, Tim and Ziva went to the young woman's place so she could put on a new set of clothes, since it would have looked strange if she had walked down the streets of DC wearing a red evening gown in broad daylight! Tim decided to drive Ziva to her place, where he waited impatiently in his Porsche until she would come back ten minutes later, looking positively radiant in a checkered shirt, a pair of jeans, her leather jacket and a scarf around her neck. They exchanged a long, passionate kiss and only loud growls coming from the back seat managed to interrupt them: it was Jet, expressing the emptiness of his stomach and wishing for a hearty lunch!

Laughing all the way to the restaurant, the couple had a nice meal at the terrace of a French restaurant offering a menu affordable on a federal agent's salary. Tim and Ziva chose a mixed salad with lettuce and croutons with melted goat cheese, and then it was _coq au vin_ served with steamed potatoes and a chocolate mousse for dessert. The food was delicious, and the restaurant perfect with its tasteful decorations, the classical music playing low in the background and the flowered terrace overlooked the Potomac River.

The restaurant accepted dogs and Jet was lying beneath his master and new mistress' table, enjoying a plate of meaty leftovers with a bowl of fresh water and not bothering a soul. Jet had detected early on that one or two younglings in the assistance were frightened of him – it happened sometimes, since very small humans could be impressed by his size – so the German shepherd had dutifully remained under the table, an attitude that had a soothing effect on the young ones. The waiter had complimented McGee for having such a well-behaved dog and "Teem" had rewarded Jet with a scratch behind the left ear – the very place where the dog simply adored to be scratched!

This restaurant was the ideal place for families wanting to enjoy a quiet Sunday together, or for couples wanting to pamper their taste buds with good food. Tim had already been here once in the past with a woman who had soon turned out to be nothing but a big fat waste of his time: she had complained about everything and everyone – the food, her colleagues at work, her family, the restaurant, her friends, even Tim – and in the end, she walked as soon as she had finished her coffee, leaving McGee behind with crushed hopes and the bill to pay. The young man had then vowed not to come back to this place until he would have found a **real** lady – and not a pretentious snob with her nose so high in the air she would have been in danger of drowning whenever it rained – and he thanked the higher powers to have granted him a second chance in finding this rare gem after he had lost Aimee.

Ziva was in every way similar to the blonde doctor: she was strong, courageous and sincere, the kind of woman Tim had desperately hoped to meet one day – and she had been there all the time, right under his nose! But shyness, self-consciousness and infernal cadences at work had prevented him from approaching the beautiful ex-Mossad officer – plus the added obstacle of Tony constantly flirting with Ziva, making it clear that she was on his hunting grounds and chubby computer geeks should remain at their place, in the background.

Tim sighed and thought of how lucky he was to be in a good restaurant and in the company of the woman he adored. It was a pleasure to watch Ziva laughing and enjoying herself and Tim could not help but noticing some of the customers were looking at them with open admiration, smiling at the young couple so obviously in love. Ziva suddenly joked about the chocolate being rumored to be an aphrodisiac – a statement that made Tim blush to the tip of his ears!

"_Ahouve_, there's nothing to feel embarrassed about! It is probably just a rumor to prompt people to eat a lot of chocolate."

"Ziva David, you are a marvelous woman… And if you carry on talking about aphrodisiacs, it will give me some very naughty ideas and I won't be accountable for my actions. Why, it could make me to jump on your bones right here and now, on this very table and in front of everybody in this restaurant!"

"Only my bones?" asked the young woman with a devious smile, making McGee blush even harder.

Ziva had a quiet laugh and then she took Tim's hand between hers.

"_Ani ohevet otcha_, my Tim."

"_Ani ohev otach_, my Ziva," answered the young man, their fingers locking together like iron. "You cannot imagine how grateful I am to you for loving me."

"I am the one who's grateful, Timothy McGee. For you to love me, to have accepted me for who I am, even with all the things I have done in the past…"

"Hush, _néhédérète_. This past is behind you; it is dead and buried, and I won't torment you with questions about it. Only if you wish to talk about it one day, I'll be glad to hear you out – but if you prefer to keep your secrets, then be it. I know you're a good person, Ziva; I also know life hasn't been a smooth drive for you, with the drama you witnessed in your country and within your own family. You had to make choices that should never had been imposed to you in the first place; you fought for your country while still a teenager; you've faced the horrible death of your little sister and I cannot even begin to imagine the fate of your fallen Mossad comrades. So yes, you had to toughen up in order to track down murderers, terrorists and any other kind of predator who have no scruples in spilling innocent blood for money or a cause – but at the core, you remained true to yourself, Ziva: a good woman wanting to do go good, that's who you are. That's the woman I've fell in love with, and never a day in my life will I regret it."

"It is only thanks to you that the good in me re-surfaced. When I arrived in America I had given up on passion, love, humanity… I feel so stupid for having laughed at you during my first years at NCIS, when you were trying to broaden my horizons with books and American culture and correcting my English. All I could see was a naïve man unaware of the horrors of this world, stumbling out in the field and constantly belittled by Gibbs. I couldn't stop thinking that you wouldn't have stood a chance in Mossad but I was wrong, so "massively" wrong; you would have done great because of that incredible intelligence of yours! Sure, you've made mistakes but you did them out of inexperience whereas I've seen too many men dying out of ignorance or arrogance – and you are neither. There was also this big heart of yours, always eager to see the good side of people even if some inconsiderate jerks would gladly throw your kindness back to your face. I've thought that in order to do my job properly, I'd have to act like a robot: always focused on work, never being distracted by daily life and ignoring prospective friends. Gibbs constantly tells us that apologizing is a sign of weakness, right? Well, I was persuaded that having feelings was a sign of weakness so I shut them out: no friends, no boyfriends, no husband and no children because solitude was safer. Like that song by Simon and Garfunkel, _"I am a rock, I am an island."_"

Tim gently kissed Ziva's hand, overwhelmed by this declaration. To think his beloved had been alone for years, renouncing to all human contact because she was worried loving someone might become a chink in her armor and spell her death…

"Even my father emotionally detached himself from me so he could do his job without risking state security; one prime example is what he did in Somalia, and without remorse. But you proved me, a thousand times over, that having feelings is strength, not weakness. I fought against that truth fangs and fingers…"

""_Tooth and nails"_, you mean?"

"Yes, sorry. And I laughed alongside Tony, I participated to his pranks, I even invaded your flat with him to mock your hobbies, simply because I didn't have a clue about how to be a decent human being. I was persuaded that being heartless was being tough and since you have a big heart, I assumed you were not cut to be a Federal Agent and that was in complete contradiction with Gibbs' rule no. 9, _"Never assume"_. And yet, in spite of the mockeries you endured in a daily basis, you remained kind, generous and loyal towards me and once I've realized my unjust attitude towards you, I was so ashamed of myself. To think it took me years to realize this, talk about being stupid!"

"You are not stupid, Ziva. Your outstanding arrest record at both Mossad and NCIS proves it. You have the rare ability to adapt to any given situation, including abroad, and that's no easy feat. You know how to learn but also how to teach and your training has proved to be invaluable to me, both in DC and during my stay in Afghanistan. And don't get me started on your courage, which is so great it could whiten the statue of a demon…"

"Oh, Tim…"

"I love you, Ziva. I love you for who you are, the beautiful warrior with a mind of steel and a heart of gold. I love your fierce protectiveness, steadfast loyalty, humor and honesty. And I have no hard feelings about you having laughed at me in the past: I _**was**_ chubby, insecure and naïve – it would be dishonest of me to say otherwise – and I didn't look like a competent Federal Agent."

"But you were already competent, Tim, and you've made up for your lack of training by working hard. You learned a lot over the years and you are now one of the rising stars of NCIS. Vance holds you in high esteem and it doesn't take a genius to see the FBI and CIA guys would tear one another like a bunch of feral cats to hire you."

"Likewise, Ziva. Which government agency wouldn't dream to have a ninja girl within their ranks?"

"Well, too bad for them but I'm staying with you at NCIS."

"As will I. The only difference is that you and I will work together in California, pretty soon."

They exchanged an enthusiastic kiss at the idea, earning a few knowing looks from the other customers sat at nearby tables. A young boy made disgusted faces at the couple and his mother scolded him, saying out loud that he should mind his own business. The boy started to sulk and stomped his feet against the floor; his mother rolled her eyes heavenwards before resuming eating, ignoring her son's display of childishness.

Tim and Ziva exchanged a look and had a hard time to refrain from laughing: the boy was acting exactly like Abby!

* * *

><p><em>Later…<em>

The rest of the Sunday went like a breeze. Tim and Ziva spent the whole afternoon at Langdon Park playing 'fetch' with Jet, eating ice cream and lying in the shadow of trees in bloom, kissing and hugging with the sun as witness of their love. They laughed at the silliest joke, made a million plans and simply watched the rest of the world enjoying the beautiful day. It had been a long time since they had been at peace and, for the first time of their lives, they could finally put aside all the hurt and past mistakes to build a future where they would be together, forever.

Once the sun started to sink on the Western horizon, Tim and Ziva headed back to McGee's building. As soon as they entered his flat, Jet drank greedily from his bowl of water while McGee picked up the phone and ordered a delivery of Chinese food from Mr. Tong's. Tim and Ziva shared the food on the kitchen's table, chatting away while Jet was engrossed by a documentary about sled dogs in the Great North. In fact, it was so fascinating that Jet almost missed the moment when his master and new mistress left the food-room for the special place, exchanging kisses and caresses on the way. The dog tore his eyes from the TV and made a beeline for the special place: judging from the sounds and the smell of pheromones, the humans were in for another round of mating. He barely had the time to see "Teem" overbalancing on the bed and "Zee-va" pouncing on him with a laugh before one of her feet collided with the door, slamming it shut at Jet's snout.

The dog let out a resigned sigh and lied down next to the special place's door. The images of sled dogs had been very interesting but Jet knew his duty; he had to guard the special place in case of intruders trying to attack his favorite humans while they were engaged in the most important and vulnerable state of life, the process of reproduction. He would not fail to his duty by being distracted with images shining on a flat surface.

The frequency of the mating was puzzling, though: were "Teem" and "Zee-va" trying to make a litter of twelve younglings?

Jet whined softly at the thought. Twelve human younglings… That would mean a lot of guarding duties!

* * *

><p><em>At dawn…<em>

"Ziva…"

"Yes, _ahouve_?"

Tim sighed and tightened his hold on the young woman in his arms. She rested her head against his chest, right above his heart, and pressed a gentle kiss at the base of his neck. A quick check at the alarm-clock-radio placed near the ravaged bed told McGee that it was 5:45 a.m., meaning that Ziva would have to get up soon and make a quick run to her flat before heading to NCIS headquarters but for the life of him, he could not resign himself to let the woman leave. How could he, after the fireworks of sensuality they had experienced together? Each embrace had been better than the previous one and Tim had been shaken to the core by this revelation. Ziva and he fitted together like the matching pieces of a puzzle, like a lock and a key. It reminded him of the story by Plato, where the Greek philosopher explained that humans, originally created with four arms, four legs and a single head with two faces, became so powerful and arrogant they planned to overthrow the gods. Zeus split the humans in half as punishment and it left them in such a state of misery they starved themselves to death. Faced with the prospect of losing worshippers, the gods mandated Apollo to reconstitute the humans and he made them with only two legs, two arms and one face. Each human was then condemned to search for his/her other half and he/she would not reach peace until he/she would find his/her soul-mate…

Well, Tim had finally found his, and her name was Ziva David.

"I hate to see you go, my love."

"It is painful to me to leave you too, _motèke chély_ (my darling) but I cannot stay any longer: I am not on vacation and it is already Monday morning: I have the obligation to show up at 7:00 at the office as if nothing has happened. I have neither clean clothes nor toiletries and I would look strange wearing yesterday's crumpled clothes… but I will be smiling all day!"

Tim tightened his hold on Ziva while chuckling slightly; a part of him was proud to be the cause of her happiness and Ziva David looking blissful was a sight to behold!

It would certainly raise questions amongst perplexed NCIS agents on Monday morning to see the ex-Mossad so happy but – and Tim's smile faded at the thought – it would also attract Tony's attention with his inevitable launching of questions about her private life. Even though she had made it clear that her relationships was none of the Senior Agent's business, Tony would nonetheless harass her with questions until she would crack under pressure and reveal the names of her boyfriend. Even Gibbs' trademark head-slaps had not managed to rein in Tony's impoliteness: DiNozzo had made his life's goal to know everything about his teammates' lives under the hypocritical excuse to _'protect his fellow NCIS from potential baddies and make sure Gibbs' rule no. 12 was not transgressed'_. In truth, Tony wanted to know if Ziva had found a man (out of fear she would find happiness without him) and McGee a woman (out of fear of not being the only guy in Team Gibbs who got lucky). Same thing with Abby, who had gone into intense crabby mood whenever McGee had tried to find a girlfriend: she simply hated the idea of a rival depriving her of her favorite fall guy!

Tim and Ziva knew they had to stay 'under the radar' until their departure for LA and keep their relationship a secret; otherwise, Ziva's life at work would soon become unbearable with Tony's and Abby's jealousy, not to forget Gibbs' wrath for losing another teammate. It felt wrong and a bit silly to hide as if they were teenagers – just like at the wedding – but they were dealing with outgrown adolescents so there was no choice for the time being. Discretion was the watchword for now but once the news of their relationship would become public, they would be free to do as they pleased.

Plus, there was the fact that Tim was officially 'out of bounds' for members of Team Gibbs – and the interdiction included Ziva. She was already in trouble with Vance for disobeying his orders regarding Afghanistan; once she would present the Director with the explosive news of her relationship with Tim, Vance would erupt like the Stromboli volcano – and she could not start to imagine his reaction after she asked for a transfer in the Californian branch of NCIS! But Ziva was determined to follow Tim in LA; if Vance did not accept to let her go, then she would resign from NCIS and travel to California on her own but she would not let anyone put hundreds of miles between her and her man again!

"You're right and besides, I don't want you to be in trouble with Gibbs or DiNozzo or Sciuto until we can both leave for California. It is better to be prudent for the time being but I assure you that soon, we will show our love for the whole world to see," said Tim, gently kissing Ziva on the lips.

"Do you think Vance will grant me a transfer? I am not in his good "logbook" those days and I disobeyed him again by entering in a relationship with you, after he told us to not have contact with you until you'd be cleared for duty."

"We **both** disobeyed him, beauteous," said Tim firmly. "I disobeyed Vance as well by transgressing his instructions about shutting out my teammates and I won't let you face the music alone. But Vance isn't like Gibbs; he doesn't try to impose stupid rules to prevent people from entering relationships at work as he damn well knows that dating is part of human nature. Gibbs has put up Rule no. 12 simply because he was afraid relationships between teammates could prevent us from doing our job and a lower crime-solving rate would have made him look bad in front of the higher powers at NCIS. And besides, we haven't dated: we have fallen in love and there's no law against this!"

"No, there's not," said Ziva before giving her special man a toe-curling kiss. After a long moment, the need for air made them break their embrace and Tim gently pressed his lips on the lovely woman's brow.

"Ducky knows about us so we could ask him for advice about how to present the situation to Vance. The Director will rant and rave about us having conspired to drive him crazy, but in the end I am certain he will grant you a transfer for California – he's not the kind to give someone a hard time out of pettiness and he knows you will be an asset for the LA office. You cannot believe how happy I am that you have accepted to come with me!"

"A new life is awaiting us, my treasure. You and I will live in a house with Jet, working with Hetty Lange and live under the sun. We have a brilliant future ahead of us and I promise to do everything in my power to make you happy, _ahouve_."

"So do I, _néhédérète._"

A kiss sealed this promise, and then Ziva very reluctantly pulled away from Tim's embrace and got out of bed, gathering her clothes from where they had been dumped on the floor. McGee could not help but admire her silhouette: she was as harmonious as a classical statue…

"You are beautiful inside and out, Ziva David."

The young woman felt her face reddening and she realized with amazement that she was blushing from a compliment for the first time of her life. She turned around and looked at Tim still on the bed, the only man who had managed to break down her defenses, to open her heart to sentiments, the one who had loved her passionately, thoroughly, who wanted to share his life with her…

_Oh, Tim, you really have no idea of how amazing you are with that shining goodness of yours!_

McGee smiled at her before throwing off the bed covers and getting on his feet.

"I'll accompany you to your car, beauteous."

"Thank you, my everything."

* * *

><p>The elevator ride downstairs was done in silence, with Tim and Ziva holding hands while Jet was yawning hugely between the two of them. Ziva had Breena's bouquet tucked in the crook of her left arm, with the flowers' stems wrapped in soaked paper towels and placed inside a plastic bag to avoid the water from dripping everywhere. Tim was clutching at the woman's hand as if it was a lifeline and only his sensible nature stopped him from awakening his neighbors at the crack of dawn by shouting at the top of his lungs that he was in love with Ziva!<p>

No matter of how reasonable it was for the ex-Mossad to go home before heading for work, it did not reduce the pain of being separated, especially after having been over the Moon and back during the whole weekend. They promised to exchange texts and emails until Ziva would be free to leave the office and go wherever she wanted (to Tim's flat) but the idea of having to wait long hours before being reunited was difficult. McGee was hoping that planning his future trip to LA and attending another therapy session with Dr. Turner would prevent him from counting the hours before he could see his love again, but deep down he knew that he would glance at his watch every five minutes or so. As for Ziva, she was silently remembering her training at Mossad, most precisely the chapter about how to school sentiments so she would be able to keep a 'poker' face at work – or was it a 'bridge' face?

The elevator stopped at the lower lobby with a ding, and much too soon they were outside on the parking lot, near Ziva's car, with the first rays of sunlight coloring the Eastern horizon and the first birds singing in tree branches. Tim embraced Ziva, kissed her and whispered in her ear:

"_Ani ohev otach_, Ziva,"

"_Ani ohevet otcha_, Tim," answered the woman, wrapping her arms around McGee and holding him tight.

Suddenly, Jet started to growl – a low growl of warning.

"Jet? What is it, buddy?"

The dog remained still, his senses on the alert, the fur on his neck standing on end, his nose twitching from the scent he had just picked up. It had been too faint for him to identify what – or who – it belonged to but Jet's instincts had warned him of a presence nearby… and it was _hostile_.

Ziva slid her hand inside her purse, getting ready to throw one of the knives hidden inside. Tim silently cursed himself for having gotten out of the flat without a weapon: dazzled by the amazing time he had spent in Ziva's arms and crushed by her imminent departure, he had completely forgotten to take the Dark Dove with him before escorting his love to her car! But a few minutes later, his anxiety calmed down as he realized the parking lot remained peaceful, the only audible sounds being birdsongs and a distant car motor roaring in the background. A soft breeze was rustling the bushes' branches; the trees' branches were gently moving against the indigo sky, which was scattered with a few remaining stars. After a while, Jet calmed down: the scent had disappeared and he could not hear or see anything that could present a danger to his favorite humans, but he remained on the alert. Tim gently patted his dog on the head, and said:

"It was nothing; probably a squirrel or something…"

"Nevertheless I should get going while I still have some courage in me, _ahouve_."

After one last, passionate kiss, Ziva climbed in her car and turned on the ignition. McGee waved at her and she answered in kind before turning the wheel and moving her vehicle out of the parking lot, far from her Tim, far from her heart, far from her life… In a way, she was grateful her special man could not see the tears gathering inside her eyes!

Tim watched helplessly the car as it drove away in the deserted street, taking his love with it; only after it had disappeared behind a corner did the young man somehow managed to say, in spite of the lump in his throat:

"Let's get back inside, Jet. It's time for your breakfast."

Both desolated man and sad dog re-entered the silent building, not exactly looking forward to a day without the company of the ex-Mossad officer…

But after the building's front door had been shut and Tim had stepped inside the elevator's cabin to reach his floor, a silhouette emerged from behind a parked car. It was a woman wearing clothes designed for a Halloween party, with hair dressed in pigtails and a face like thunder.

_How dare they…_

She stepped out of the car and took a few steps towards Tim's building, barely able to breathe.

_How dare they…_

She had come here to spy on Tim. She had been doing this since the day McGee had flatly refused to let her enter his apartment and she had been worried sick about Jethro, that poor innocent doggie she loved so much. Her wild imagination had made her believe in a scenario in where the German shepherd had been locked up in the basement and submitted to brain-washing experiments by his undeserving master, prompting her to come at this place early in the morning, hoping to infiltrate the building so she could inspect the basements and rescue Jethro from a horrible fate. She had tried to charm her way in but the few tenants she had spoken to had rebuked her demands of access, probably out of fear of burglars – bunch of cowards!

_How dare they…_

Reduced to keep an outside vigil, she had then seen McGee and his dog stepping out of the building every morning for their daily jogging session and Jethro had seemed to be in a normal state, looking perfectly healthy while running alongside McGee. But this reassuring sight had not made her give up her surveillance; for all she knew, McGee could fake to be a good master and she had to make sure his new status of _'NCIS superstar needing a rest from the horrors he had witnessed abroad'_ would not cause him to harm Jet in a bout of PTSD or any other mental breakdown he could have caught while playing the hero in Afghanistan. She had not forgotten the scene she had witnessed at the bullpen, with McGee wielding a dark knife right in front of Tony's face. It had scared the life out of her and she was resolved to protect Jethro at all costs, regardless of Vance's stupid orders.

She had maintained her vigilance for weeks, taking comfort at the sight of Jethro being alive and well – except for the other night, where she had fallen sick from overindulgence in alcohol consumption at the Gremlin's wedding. It had not been her fault! She had been upset from having being robbed of the bride's bouquet so she had searched for a little consolation at the bottom of champagne glasses and it had ended with a scandal at the ladies' room. Trust the Gremlin to serve poor quality wine – that cheapskate owed her a crate of real champagne! Anyway, she had been too sick to be of surveillance on Sunday morning and, horrified by the thought McGee would use her temporary weakness to hurt Jethro, she had resumed her stakeout as early as 5:00 a.m. the next day.

One hour later, McGee had stepped out of his building with Jethro at his heels…

… _And with Ziva on his arm!_

The shock had taken her breath away. It had been indeed Ziva, holding Breena's bouquet with the arrogance of an impress and making goo-goo eyes at McGee!

_And then McGee had hugged Ziva…_

_He had kissed her right on the month…_

_She had kissed him back…_

_They had whispered at each other's ear…_

_How dare they… _

_How dare she!_

_Ziva had stolen Tim from her!_

Abby Sciuto gnashed her teeth furiously, giving her the face of a gargoyle carved by a drunken sculptor. She was so mad she felt like she was going to explode like a defective nuclear power plant. Ziva… That dirty, no-good, revolting, bad ex-Mossad officer! She had gotten her hands on McGee and he, ever the fool, had fallen for it hook, line and sinker!

"_Timmy is mine!"_ though the furious Lab Rat._ "Always have, always will be. He is too frail and too stupid to make the difference between a good woman and an evil one so it is my mission to keep him safe. I'm the one for him, the only one!"_

Oh sure, Abby did not want McGee with her all the time – his goody two-shoes number was tedious after a while, especially for a woman like her. Variety was a pleasure in life and Abby enjoyed experiencing with various men, especially the tough cookies she usually met at rock concerts or smoke-filled bars. They were real men, always ready to fight one another to win her favors whereas McGee's feeble attempts at flirting were reduced to giving flowers and taking her to a restaurant. What a dope! He did not have a single clue of what real life was – a tough, hard place where only the strong survived and Gibbs was the perfect example of this truism.

Abby had taken pity on the computer tech in the past, giving him a taste of what a real woman was before putting an abrupt end to their relationship as he was really too much like a puppy, trying to take its first steps and failing miserably – it had been comical, but hopeless. Years later, Abby had granted McGee a second chance but he had been so clingy that she had nearly suffocated from his affection; obviously, he had not matured in the slightest and she had better things to do than waste her time with him so Abby had thrown in a consolation bone by granting McGee the title of _"Best friend"_. It meant included he would be her admirer, chauffeur, human ATM and it had been very practical for her, since she always needed something and McGee was too afraid of Gibbs to dare refusing her anything. Having a lackey was way better than having a boyfriend!

_And then McGee had dared to leave the team for a mission abroad._

_He had had the nerve to throw accusations at his teammates before leaving, more specifically to her._

_He had come back filled with arrogance and disdain._

_He had prevented her from seeing Jethro._

_And he was doing the beast with two backs with Ziva!_

_How dare he!_

_How dare she!_

"Oh, you horrible woman!" suddenly shouted Abby, startling the birds perched in trees surrounding the parking lot. "You deceiver, double-crosser, turncoat, dirty weasel! You female Benedict Arnold! You dared to look nicer than **me** at the wedding, you stole **my** flowers, and now you're sleeping with **my** Timmy! To think you've flirted with Tony for decades and during all that time you were preying on Timmy… Oh, you cheat! You snake in the grass! Timmy's **mine**, do you hear? Mine! He's my private property; you don't have the right to touch him! He doesn't have the right to be interested in you! He doesn't have the right to look at another woman than me! He's **my** Timmy and I don't share!"

Outraged, the Goth woman kicked at the tires of a nearby automobile, setting off the car alarm. The sudden honking noises caused the birds to fly swiftly away and Abby nearly jumped out of her platform boots in fright; she ran out of the parking lot at all speed, scared that someone might confuse her with a car robber and get her in trouble with the police. She already had been wrongfully arrested by that revolting officer at Langdon Park and she was not in a hurry to renew the experience. The whole incident had not been her fault; she had been trapped by that no-good Andy Somerset and he would pay for that – but she had gotten a Citation Release and doubtless another meddlesome officer would exploit her record to make another unlawful arrest.

Abby reached her own car in no time and jumped inside before slamming shut the driver's door and turning on the ignition. She was too angry to think straight so she needed to go to NCIS and evaluate the situation in the quietness of her lab.

Timmy and that perfidious Ziva were having a relationship.

It was a personal insult towards her… but also a blatant disregard of Vance's orders.

Abby Sciuto was an intelligent woman, the smartest scientist of NCIS and if she played her cards right, she could kill two birds with one stone.

Two-faced Ziva would pay for having slept with Abby's best friend.

Timmy would be taught a lesson for having been unfaithful.

Abigail Sciuto would make sure of it!

TBC…


	93. A competition

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi, also named The Mahatma Gandhi (1869–1948) was the preeminent leader of the independence movement in British-ruled India (from Wikipedia).

- Details about the White House are from Wikipedia and the White House Museum's website. Some of them have been imagined, so I apologize for any inaccuracies.

- In Greek mythology, Mentor was a friend of Odysseus, who placed him in charge of his son Telemachus before his departure for the Trojan War. The word _"Mentor"_ was later employed to design someone training students or inexperienced colleagues (from Wikipedia).

- To Guest: Tony's ego has taken quite a blow with the review board and Amanda the whistleblower. Will he finally see the light or will he returns to his old ways?

- To None: Ziva will certainly stand her grounds against Abby – office supplies, anyone? ;o)

- To Momcat: again, _merci beaucoup_ for your kind comments. This story reaches its ends but the final chapters will be a bumpy ride!

- To Arashi: Thank you for your review. I've always felt the way Tim was treated by his colleagues was completely out of line for supposedly Federal Agents.

- To Guest: Abby is certainly irritating, and her attitude towards Tim during the dog incident was simply unforgivable!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 92: A competition<strong>

_Three days later…_

Tim McGee checked his appearance in his bedroom's mirror and judged it to be impeccable: he was wearing a recently dry-cleaned dark suit, a brand-new Navy-blue tie, an immaculate white shirt and his black shoes had just been polished. His brownish-blonde hair was slowly growing out of the buzz cut he had acquired during his Afghani days but it was still short enough to avoid a trip to the barber's shop. His suntanned skin was looking healthy and, if it had not been for the scar on his forehead, Tim could have passed for a successful attorney just back from a vacation abroad.

Except that he had no intention of going to an office today, solving cases and dealing with annoying co-workers; instead, he was to attend an important meeting this afternoon at 3:00 p.m. sharp. This meeting would be held at the following address: 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, Washington DC…

Tim's stomach suddenly made a flip-flop inside his chest and the young man felt an emotion so violent it almost made him fall on his back on the nearby bed. His dog, which had been patiently looking at Tim's grooming from the bedroom's door, let out an interrogative whine at this bout of dizziness shown by his usually stoic master.

McGee sat on the bed and said in the general direction of the German shepherd:

"It's all right, Jet. Nothing to worry about, buddy; I'm just a bit overwhelmed, that's all – probably feeling stage fright as well but no one can blame me, eh?"

Jet tilted its head on the right, as if he wanted to say those explanations were not convincing. Tim buried his face in his hands and tried to slow down his breathing in order to keep his emotions under control. The past three days had been hectic and he needed to take stock of the situation so he would be in full possession of his senses for the meeting.

_(Flashback)_

_The week had gotten off with a great start with a meeting with Director Vance. Tim had been adamant in escorting Ziva during this dreaded rendezvous; no way would he let his love to face alone the wrath of their superior officer! They were a couple in love, meaning they had to face the good and the bad together – for better or for worse, like Jimmy and Breena had vowed in front of their guests and the pastor. Tim had phoned Pam, Vance's secretary to ask for a private meeting with Vance after working hours and she had read between the lines of his request: _"private"_ meant without risking Gibbs to barge his way in Vance's office and _"after working hours"_ signified an hour where McGee would not see his teammates, not even by accident. So the woman had scheduled Tim a meeting with Director Vance at 7:00 p.m., when everybody on the day shift would be gone – including Team Gibbs. McGee had thanked Pam profusely but he had added that Agent David would attend this meeting as well. The secretary had sounded a bit surprised but she had assured him that this information would be relayed only to Director Vance. Tim had not been worried; Pam knew her job and she was not afraid of Gibbs, so there were no ways in Hell that she would blow the whistle about Tim and Ziva meeting Vance together._

_About the meeting itself, well… It had not been a smooth ride at the beginning. McGee could clearly remember the scowling Director behind his desk, toothpick in mouth and glaring daggers at the couple standing in front of him._

"_Have you conspired to drive me crazy?" had asked Vance._

"_No, Sir," had answered Tim and Ziva in one voice._

"_Have you made it your life's goal to drive me out of my mind?"_

"_No, Sir."_

"_Did you think it would look good on your CVs to be the cause of my mental illness?"_

"_No, Sir."_

"_Do you considerate me a good candidate for the loony bin?"_

"_Which bin, Sir?" had asked Ziva innocently._

_Tim had a hard time to keep a straight face but then he saw something that gave him a glimmer of hope: Director Vance had a tiny little golden spark dancing in the middle of each obsidian-colored eye. Could it mean he was not as angry as he appeared?_

"_Never mind that, Agent David; what I want to know is the reason why you've transgressed my orders – again – about not entering in contact with Agent McGee until he would be cleared for duty. Agent McGee, I would also like to know the reason why you've mentioned your departure to LA to Agent David whereas I recall ordering you to keep silent about it to your teammates."_

_Tim took a deep breath, and answered before Ziva could: "I am sorry for dumping this situation on your shoulders, Sir; but I am _**not**_ sorry for having created said situation."_

"_What do you mean?"_

"_I _**love**_ Agent David, Director Vance. I love her with all my heart, all my soul. Agent David is a good person. Not only did she brave unimaginable dangers to save my sanity in Afghanistan, not only her friendship has helped me copping with my sorrow, but she has been generous enough to give me her heart and I will always, always be grateful to her for that. I couldn't hide to her the fact I'm leaving for LA in a few weeks because she's not my teammate anymore: she's my life-partner."_

_Ziva discreetly slipped her hand inside Tim's and squeezed._

"_Our relationship is not an act of defiance to your orders, Sir; neither is it an arrogant move from my part by thinking the success of my mission abroad has somehow entitled me to act as I pleased. It isn't a puerile revenge against Agent Gibbs and his set of rules, either; as far as I know, he hasn't made a rule about falling in love with a co-worker and besides, he has ceased to be an influence on me a long time ago."_

"_Good for you!" had snarled the Director. _

"_Our relationship just __**happened**__, Sir, and it feels like fireworks constantly illuminating my life. Agent David… Ziva is… there are no words to describe her, Sir. She's wonderful and I am happy with her. To quote the Mahatma Gandhi: _"Where there is love, there is life"_. Ziva's love brought me back to life after I've lost Aimee. Please don't be too angry at us for wanting to be together forever, Sir."_

"_And you, Agent David? Anything else to add?" grumbled Vance around his toothpick._

"_Tim is my love, Sir. I will stay with him for the rest of my life and I will go wherever he goes, even if it means being fired from NCIS. That's all, Sir."_

_McGee thought it was a good thing Ziva had become an American citizen. If she was given the boot by Vance, she would not have to pack her bags and go back to Tel-Aviv with the termination of her contract with NCIS, a situation that had occurred in the past (of course, had Ziva failed her citizenship exams, Tim would have married her in Las Vegas, thus thwarting any legal attempt to expel the Israeli woman from the United States)._

_Director Vance remained silent for a long five minutes; his face looked as dark as a storm cloud but inwardly, he was rejoicing: McGee and David… Who would have thought that? Surely the announcement of their relationship to the other Agents would have the effects of a bomb explosion in the bullpen! The NCIS rumor mill had been buzzing for years about David being DiNozzo's unofficial girlfriend, a gossip largely fed by the constant flirting and banter he showed in public towards the ex-Mossad. As for McGee, his failures with the fairer sex – not to forget Sciuto's omnipresent jealousy – had earned him the reputation of being 'doomed' to remain the Lab Rat's lackey for the remainders of his days. But according to the gossipers, DiNozzo, David, Sciuto and McGee were in a gridlock, since Gibbs-The-Almighty prohibited romance between teammates and woe who would dare to defy the dragon's orders! _

_And yet, it seemed that for all his rules, growls and sarcasms, the Team Leader had spectacularly failed in preventing two of his Agents to fall in love with each other. It proved, once again, that being an ex-Marine did not give you an aura of infallibility allowing you to tyrannize co-workers. _

_Boy, the look on Gibbs's face once he would learn the news! Priceless!_

_But in spite of the complications that would rise from filling up more paperwork for a second transfer to LA, Vance was approving this turn of events. McGee would be good to David; he had proved time and time again that he had the power to soothe the ferocious woman, turning her from ultra-aggressive ex-Mossad officer into an efficient Federal Agent. Reciprocally, David had been a good influence on McGee, like in shedding pounds or throwing knifes at enemies. Yep, they both completed each other and Hetty Lange would be happy to have such a formidable duo under her orders._

_Vance repressed a smirk and then, he decided to cut the couple some slack. McGee had his features set in stone but the Director knew the young man's heart and doubtless he was worried sick about David's future within the agency. The woman had an equally poker face on but her aura of dangerousness had increased since the last few minutes – a tell-tale sign that her patience was running short and Vance did not want her to jump to the wrong conclusion and say something she would regret afterwards._

"_Pack your bags, Agent David."_

"_Sorry, Sir?" asked Ziva, a bit startled by the abruptness of the order._

"_I said, pack your bags. You're transferred to California."_

_Tim repressed a shudder and his hand nearly crushed Ziva's._

"_W-Where in California, Sir?" asked the computer tech._

"_Why, to our office in LA, of course. I am certain that under Hetty Lange's tutelage, you will finally acquire the training you both are lacking: Agent McGee out in the field and Agent David in following orders."_

_The relief on Tim's and Ziva's faces was so blatant it was almost comical, and Vance inwardly wished he could take a picture with his SmartPhone. It would have made a nice souvenir!_

"_Thank you, Sir."_

"_Don't thank me, Agent McGee; thank your natural-born honesty that had prompted you to come clean to me about your relationship. I kind of figured you would confess it before your departure for LA but you've managed to surprise me by telling about it straight away!"_

"_WHAT?" exclaimed Ziva, her dark eyes rounding at this turn of events. "You mean you __**knew**__ about us __**before**__ we told you, Sir?"_

_This Earth-shattering revelation rendered McGee speechless: how could the Director have known about them? God knows, Tim and Ziva had been very careful ever since their love story had started – hiding during Jimmy's wedding, escaping the restaurant with Ducky's complicity, enjoying tender moments during the weekend in places unfrequented by Team Gibbs' members… Ziva had even managed to keep a straight face during her whole day of work, including the times when she read e-mails and texts from her _ahouve_. Even Gibbs had not suspected a thing, and Ducky had sworn to not say a word about Tim and Ziva, so how could they have betrayed themselves?_

"_As a matter of fact, yes, Agent David; I was aware of your relationship before you both came to my office."_

"_But how…?"_

"_Agent McGee, before I became Director of this Agency, I was a field agent for the __Naval Investigative Service__ which was the predecessor of NCIS. I was trained by Special Agents __Whitney Sharp and Riley McAllister – two good men who taught me to be in alert of my surroundings in any given circumstances, either inside or outside work. For that, I constantly use all of my five senses: sight, sound, touch, taste… and smell."_

_Tim frowned at this declaration: what it had to do with…?_

"_After I broke the fight during Dr. Palmer's wedding, I told Agent DiNozzo to go back to the reception and I escorted Miss Drucker out of the restaurant to put her in a cab. But before I left, I could smell a scent of roses mixed with lily-of-the-valley floating around the drawing-room. There were only two persons who had been in contact with those flowers during the wedding: the brand-new Mrs. Palmer and the lucky winner of her bridal bouquet. I shrugged the matter off for a few minutes but right at the moment I was walking back from the parking after having put Miss Drucker in a cab I saw you, Agent David, carrying said flowers and followed by you, Agent McGee. You made a beeline to your respective cars, apparently in a hurry to leave the reception."_

_Tim and Ziva exchanged a glance. Betrayed by a bouquet… At least it was original!_

"_Tell me, how was your stay in the drawing-room's closet?" asked Vance with an ironic smile._

"_Not very comfortable, Sir – it was too narrow for two grown adults," answered Tim truthfully while blushing to the tip of his ears. "We deplored this comedy of manners' situation but we had no other choices than to hide: Agent DiNozzo would have blown up a fuse if he had seen us together and we wanted to prevent a major incident to occur at Jimmy and Breena's wedding."_

"_Very commendable," said Vance good-naturally. "Now, kindly stop torturing yourselves about not having been discreet enough; you've done a good job so far. Agent David, you put up a stoic face today at the bullpen and I expect you to carry on until the announcement of both your departures for LA will be official. Agent McGee, this unexpected situation doesn't exempt you from therapy sessions with Doctor Turner. I suppose Doctor Mallard is aware of your relationship?"_

"_Yes Sir," answered Tim and Ziva at unison._

"_It's always the quiet ones!" said Vance with a sigh. "Anyway, I've started filling up the paperwork for your transfer to LA this morning, Agent David, so you'd better clean up your load of files before heading for LA's sunny pastures."_

"_Begging your pardon, Sir, but I thought LA had beaches?" had asked Ziva._

_(End flashback)_

Tim chuckled at the recollection of the uncontrollable fit of laughter that seized him and Director Vance, caused by this new "Zivaism". Only after he had calmed down did he realize the dark-haired woman was smiling calmly, apparently not taking offence of having caused laughter by misinterpretation. Then, once they had left the NCIS building and were safely at Tim's flat, Ziva had confessed with a malicious grin that she had made the mistake on purpose in order to ease up the tension reigning in the Director's office. It was a little trick that she used every now and then to lighten the atmosphere within Team Gibbs, but sometimes she could really misunderstand the sense of some English idioms! Tim had called her a clever and adorable warrior queen, a declaration which had earned him a spine-melting kiss followed by a heated coupling…

McGee suddenly coughed; it was not the time to remember the moments he had experienced with Ziva! They had unleashed their love that night, reaching peaks of passion so intense Tim had thought he would die in the arms of the beautiful woman and he had not given a damn about it. All what had mattered had been love and desire and Ziva, Ziva, Ziva…

"Oh, Ziva!" said Tim out loud. "I will be strong for you, my love. I will go to this meeting with my head held up high and I won't disappoint you. I wish you could come with me this afternoon, beauteous, but you are not supposed to know about CHRIS and the work I've done in Afghanistan. You saw me working on a laptop for hours but you never asked what it was about, as you were too focused on my safety. Vance couldn't get you an invitation to this meeting and besides, you would have had a hard time explaining your absence to nosey-parker Gibbs."

Jet, growing worried for his master, crossed the bedroom to sit next to his favorite male human and gave him an encouraging lick under the chin. Tim laughed and hugged his pet, his heart warmed by this display of affectionate loyalty. Then a gleam under the bed caught McGee's eye and he bent down to retrieve an object made of metal and leather: it was the Dark Dove, in its new sheath…

The view of this knife calmed Tim and burst his self-confidence. The dark blade was shining in all its sharpened glory and the case, which had been provided by Corporal Roberts, sported the following inscription: _"T. McGee, ahouve"_. Ziva had engraved it as a surprise for her special man and she had showed it to him the day before, along with an extra gift: the Navy-blue tie! She knew McGee could not take the Dark Dove for his meeting (much to his chagrin) but he could wear another gift from the woman he loved.

Jet tucked his head under Tim and the young man, hugging his dog with one arm and clutching the Dark Dove with his other hand, silently vowed to remain calm, strong and confident during the most important meeting of his life. He would not stutter; he would not tremble; he would not be frightened by anybody or anyone. He would be respectful, calm, collected and professional and all would go well.

The Dark Dove gleamed in appreciation inside its sheath.

* * *

><p><em>Later, at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue…<em>

Tim straightened his suit's jacket as he walked down the White House's Center Hall, passing by the Diplomatic Reception Room. He had showed Security the invitation he had received and the staff, aware of the ceremony which would be held in the Oval Office soon, had immediately given him the VIP treatment with the granting of a badge and a Secret Service Agent escorting him to the West Wing. As he walked in the wake of the Agent (named Paulson), Tim could not help but be impressed by his surroundings.

He had visited the White House with his parents and Sarah, years ago, as part of an educational trip organized by his father. McGee Senior had been a Captain at the time with high ambitions – one of them was having a son walking in his footsteps – and he had thought a tour of the Executive Residence would inspire Timmy to give up his computer obsession and become a 'real man' in the Navy. McGee Senior's great plan had spectacularly failed but Tim had never forgotten the amazement he had felt while visiting the White House. The history of this building had simply been fascinating! The original architecture by James Hoban… The destruction of the house during the 1812 war… The construction of the West Wing in 1901 during the Presidency of Theodore Roosevelt… The East Wing in 1942… The Harry S. Truman reconstruction… The rooms redecorated by Jackie Kennedy! Timmy had been so captivated by the history that he had peppered the tour guide with questions, much to the woman's amusement. She had then congratulated McGee Senior for having such a smart son –a sentiment that had not been shared, with Captain McGee slapping Timmy with the order to _"stop being such a show-off"_ once the tour was finished.

Agent Paulson guided Tim through the West Colonnade, bordered by the Rose Garden designed by Rachel Lambert Mellon. McGee did his best to not glance at the stone-faced Marines in uniform standing guard as they reminded him of Gibbs and of his strained relationship with the silver-haired man. Maybe, once he would have moved to California, would he be able to speak to his ex-Boss again? Right now the wounds were too raw but Tim's forgiving nature was slowly coming back, thanks to the new hope he had found in Ziva…

"Here we are, Sir!"

"Er… Thank you!" exclaimed Tim, snapping out of his reverie. He looked up and indeed, they were entering the West Wing.

Paulson explained that once they would reach the First Floor, Tim's arrival would be confirmed to the Chief of Staff and the President's secretary. Then he was to be guided to the Reception Area by the Deputy Chief of Staff to wait for the other guests to arrive, until they would be all escorted to the Oval Office when it would be time for the ceremony to start; refreshments were ready in the Reception Area but McGee doubted he would eat or drink anything; his stomach was already tied in knots!

A moment after, Tim was in the Reception Room and, to pass the time, he looked at the window to admire the Oval Office Patio, the swimming pool and, in the background, the magnolia trees, American elms, white oaks and sugar maples, not to forget the Children's garden and the tulips parterres. It looked so beautiful that for a moment, Tim forgot his apprehensions to enjoy the view….

… Until a hand roughly grabbed him by the arm!

"What are **you** doing here?" hissed a low, but furious voice.

Tim did an about-turn and his skin paled under his suntan: _the aggressor was no one but Admiral Robert McGee!_

"Dad?"

"I asked you a question, boy, so answer! What are you doing here?"

Tim remained speechless for a few seconds, and then his self-confidence kicked in full force. With a swift move he had learned during his stay at ISAF, he disengaged his arm from the Admiral's grip and fixed his emerald gaze on his father's face.

"I'm not one of your men. I'm your_** son**_, remember? So mind the attitude or I'll cuff you for assault against a Federal Agent before frog-marching you throughout the White House for all the staff and the Security Service Agents to witness your arrest, get it?"

Admiral McGee recoiled as if he had been burned. Never had he imagined Tim talking back to him, even in his worst nightmares! The boy had been born soft, spineless and weak – an impression he had gotten from the first time he had laid eyes on Timmy, resting against his mother's bosom at the maternity ward, and he had never changed of opinion ever since. Unimpressed by his son's academic accomplishments, indifferent to the bullying Tim had endured in Junior and High School, the four-star Admiral had simply burned the bridges between them after learning his issue had opted for a career at NCIS. Of all the government's agencies, Tim had chosen for the lower of the food chain! Then again, what else was to expect from a coward, who could not step foot on a boat without puking his guts out?

"You wouldn't dare," said Robert McGee.

"Try me," answered his son.

"I am an Admiral of the US Navy, boy!"

"Is that supposed to impress me? For your information, I owe you nothing – certainly not the brutality, sarcasm and disdain you've showed me as far as I can remember. Do you know I have absolutely no happy childhood memories of you? In fact, the only times I was happy were when you were deployed abroad – Mom was desolated by your absence, but I certainly wasn't: you being on the other side of the world was my chance to have some peace and quiet at home, where I wouldn't have to deal with your venom after having been bullied at school all day long. But then again, I'm just a weakling to your eyes so I deserved all of it, hmm?"

"You've never been worthy of me, boy. Your revolting cowardice has brought shame on our family. You can't even step inside a fishing boat without turning green…"

This time, it was Tim's turn to grab his father's by the arm: "It's so easy to blame me for everything, even for things that are absolutely not under my control, eh, Admiral? You live in dread and fear of being mocked by your fellow Navy officers for having sired an 'imperfect' son that you'd rather accuse me than admit that you've been an unjust hypocrite for years – in a way, you remind me of former colleagues of mine, and be assured this is not a compliment."

"W-What do you mean?" stuttered the Admiral, surprised by the strength of Tim's grip and by the dangerous light dancing in his green eyes.

"When I turned eighteen, I asked Doctor Jacobs, our family doctor, for help: I wanted medication that could cure me of my 'cowardice', since according to you it was the sole reason for my seasickness. Doctor Jacobs showed me my file, and most importantly the diagnostic he has made when I was four years old: _"Motion sickness due to __an asymmetric dysfunction of the vestibular system in the inner ear. Condition acquired at birth. No treatment available. No operation possible. Diagnostic confirmed by Pr. Alan Ruckenstein, Department of Neurology, Bethesda Hospital, Washington, DC."_

Tim released his father with a gesture of disgust: "It felt as if the sky had fallen on my head: not only was I not a coward, but _**you and Mom have lied to my face for years**_. Doctor Jacobs proved that my seasickness is not due to a weakness of character, but to an inoperable medical condition. But your pride simply couldn't let you admit this fact: Robert McGee is perfect so he has to have a perfect son – a miniature of himself that he would have paraded in front of his colleagues in order to make them forget that he's the most despised officer of the US Navy. But your great plan got blown to Hell with my inner ear problem and you considered me as an insult towards the quality of your sperm."

"Enough!"

"And of course, Mom could only agree with your unjust attitude – after all, she has ceased to use her intelligence right after she married you. Being a _"yes-woman"_ is so much easier, since no brains are required for the job; of course, it involved making me miserable but who cares about this little detail, right?"

Robert McGee remained silent for a minute, too angry to utter an intelligible answer and too scared by the sudden show of strength deployed by his issue. His arm was aching from where Tim had grabbed him earlier and the Admiral had recognized the hold his son had used to free himself from his grasp: it had been a Marine's move. But Tim had never been Navy material, so how could he have learned such a fighting technique?

"You ought to stop crying on your childhood and start behaving like a man!" snarled McGee Senior. "And, for starters, you'll show me respect!"

"Respect is _**earned**_, Dad; you've done nothing to acquire mine."

"I'm your father!"

"And a cold-hearted liar."

"Why, you…"

"Shut it. We're in the White House, in case you've forgotten – a place filled with Security Special Agents who are pretty uptight. The noise of a row could prompt a rapid intervention from those guys and it won't do your reputation any good if word is spread around about you being summarily expulsed from the White House."

Robert McGee felt a shiver of fear running up his spine. It was true that his reputation at the Navy was already bad and he did not need a scandal to worsen it. He loathed admitting it, but his son _had_ changed – the baby fat on his face had vanished, muscles were bulging under the dark suit and he sported an angry scar on his forehead that looked recent. Tim did not look like an overweight slacker glued to a computer day and night any more, but instead he looked like a Marine in civilian clothes. But no, that was impossible!

"You still haven't told me what you were doing at the White House," snarled the Admiral.

"I was invited by the President to attend a ceremony."

Robert McGee snorted in derision: "Yeah, right – as if a computer nerd from a federal agency so negligible nobody in the Hill can remember its existence, would ever be invited by the President to come to the White House!"

"I have been invited; if you don't believe me, you can ask the Chief of Staff or one of his subordinates."

"It's not an Admiral's job to ask mere pen-pushers for information. You go see the Chief of Staff and tell them they've made a mistake by inviting you!"

"I'll do nothing of the sort. My invitation was signed by the President himself. Who am I to disobey an order from the Commandant-in-Chief of the US armed forces?"

"Don't be coy with me, boy!"

"If you don't like the way I talk, you can turn heels and walk away. There are refreshments on the table but you'll have to wait until the ceremony is over for having a go at the champagne."

"How do you know about the ceremony?"

"I've told you I was invited to attend it!"

"As what?" asked Robert McGee venomously. "As a waiter? A chauffeur? Or maybe as a toilet cleaner?"

"No, as a US Federal Agent."

"Ha! Carrying a gun and a badge doesn't make you a Federal Agent. You need guts, and courage, and toughness to be worthy of this title and you have none of these qualities, boy!"

"I've earned them."

"What?"

Tim turned his head towards his father's dark gaze and he inwardly thanked God and genetics that he had inherited his grandmother's eyes.

"I have recently made a trip to a war zone, as I had told you in a letter sent to you and Mom before my departure – and don't bother deny having received it, Dad. Director Vance told me all about the scandal you've made at NCIS and your pitiful attempt to pry information out of my superior officer. Then, after I came back to DC, I sent you another letter but neither you nor Mom have bothered to pick up the phone to call me – and here again, don't try to deny since I also sent you three text messages and four e-mails, and there are no doubts in my mind that Sarah also warned you about my return."

"Sarah should mind her own business!" barked McGee Senior.

"During my stay abroad I've learned a lot of things about survival, friendship, love, self-confidence, death and fighting skills. It sure has changed me, but in spite of heartbreaking situations I've never once regretted my decision to have accepted this mission."

"Are you trying to make me believe that you've learned how to stand on your own two feet at last?"

"Yes, and it was due to my encounter with a very good man who became a mentor, a good friend and a surrogate father to me."

That last declaration made Admiral McGee's face turn purple like some spoiled blueberry-flavored ice cream. The very idea of his status as Tim's father being challenged by somebody else was simply unacceptable, an insult to his authority!

"**WHAT? Have you gone bonkers, boy? Surely the sun has fried your worthless brains inside your skull! What kind of man could ever think of wasting his valuable time with you? Who would ever bother to give you any kind of training, knowing you would ruin it straightaway with that incurable cowardice of yours? That's impossible! You're lying through your teeth! Men deployed in war zones are **_**real**_** men, the kind that would not be burdened by a dead weight like you. You're lying!"**

"No, I'm not," answered Tim without batting an eyelid.

"**Oh, really? Then who's the absolute imbecile who has foolishly thought that you could be of any usefulness to our troops abroad?"**

Footsteps were suddenly heard in the background and the tall silhouette of a man entered the Reception Room. McGee Senior and Junior turned their heads towards the visitor at the same time and saw it was a General of the US Marines Corp. in uniform, with medal bars displayed on his chest and a cap tucked under his arm.

"Somebody's looking for me?" asked General Stephenson.

TBC…


	94. A decoration

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- The term _Ubuesque_ comes from the play _"__Ubu Roi"_ (_Ubu the King_ or _King Ubu_) written in 1896 by French symbolist writer Alfred Jarry (1873–1907). It is considered as precursor to the Theatre of the Absurd (from Wikipedia).

- Details about the White House are from Wikipedia and the White House Museum's website.

- Ezekiel 18:20 is a Biblical quote telling_: "The son will not share the guilt of the father, nor will the father share the guilt of the son."_

- Robert Page (1903–1992) was an American physicist who was a leading figure in the development of radar technology (from Wikipedia).

- The President's speech is of my own creation.

- To Vicki: the Badmiral will have his comeuppance in this chapter, keep on reading!

- To Momcat: _merci pour votre appreciation!_ The Admiral may have tried to repair his relationship with Tim in the show but in my story, he remains an obnoxious jerk who simply cannot admit his wrongs… just like Gibbs.

- To jk: the Admiral's reaction will be of an epic grandeur, LOL.

- To Cree: welcome back! Thank you so much for your kind words. I am really glad you're still enjoying the story!

- To Notimetologin: I hope this new chapter will answer your demands.

- To RedDragen: turbulences ahead! Please fasten your seat belt! xD

- To Guest: you're right, I'd almost pity the Admiral after this chapter… almost.

- To Jeika: sorry about the cliffhanger, but I cannot help myself! ;o)

- To jerseybelle: Admiral McGee is an absolute idiot, and he'll get quite a revelation at the White House.

- To None: I have something in reserve for the Badmiral… just keep on reading!

- To Jane: I post a new chapter every Saturday. Sorry to make you wait but RL doesn't allow me to write every day, *sigh*.

- To MarkyV: the Admiral will get an overdue lecture, but I cannot feel sorry for him.

- To sprouthater: Stephenson's arrival was a nice surprise, wasn't it? ;-D

- To Guest: hope you will like this new chapter!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 93: A decoration<strong>

_At 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue…_

Admiral Robert McGee staggered from the shock; the man who had calmly entered the Reception Area to ask a humorous question was no one but General Alexander Stephenson, one of the most appreciated officers of the US Marines Corp.!

The Admiral had met Stephenson before, during official dinners at the White House where he had gotten quite drunk. McGee Senior had a hazy recollection of his vanity being boosted to the stratosphere by Stephenson exchanging pleasantries with him over glasses of wine – much to the other guests' amazement: why would Alexander Stephenson ever waste his valuable time talking to that wreck of an Admiral? The General had a solid reputation as an efficient and capable officer, a great leader adored by his men whereas McGee Senior barely got out of his office in DC since he had proved over and over again that he was incapable to command a ship, let alone a fleet. His penchant for alcohol and his open disdain towards subordinates had quickly earned him the nickname of _"The Badmiral"_ and sailors would rather go to jail than put their bags on a ship commanded by Robert McGee. As for officers, only the naïve or the desperate would accept to serve under his orders – resulting in a catastrophic mood onboard, bordering mutiny. Over the years, the higher powers had discreetly assigned Admiral McGee behind a comfortable desk in the guise of a promotion but the truth was, they would rather see him drunk in an office than on a ship.

McGee Senior had resented this situation but no amount of protests had made the Headquarters' Honchos change their mind. He had then concluded that the office job was nothing but a demonstration of their jealousy towards him, and he never missed an occasion to complain about it: like, for example, when he had found a sympathetic ear in the person of General Stephenson during White House's events. The drunken Admiral had then talked non-stop about his unappreciated qualities, the pettiness of bigwigs and of all the hardships he had endured in his life – the biggest one being his disappointment of a son. How could he, a respected Admiral of the US Navy, have sired such a coward, a weakling, a nerd only able to type on a keyboard? And the Admiral had ranted and raved for hours about his son's lousy degrees, his goody-two-shoes personality and his lamentable career as a NCIS Federal Agent until he had gotten too sloshed to make sense, prompting the White House's staff to evacuate McGee Senior before he could cause a major embarrassment.

The Admiral's ego had indeed been flattered by General Stephenson's attitude towards him but, once the alcohol had been slept off, he had discarded it as a mere expression of deference a man of his rank within the Navy was expected to receive. McGee Senior had not given it another thought, especially after learning Stephenson had gone to Afghanistan to serve another one of those time-wasting tours of duty in this God-forsaken country.

And then, a flicker of intelligence blinked in Robert McGee's thick brains. Stephenson had gone to Afghanistan… And Tim had sent a letter to his parents while they were vacationing in India, saying he would leave DC for a mission in Afghanistan… _Oh, s**t!_

"You're... You're..."

"Guilty as charged! Yes, I am the absolute imbecile who has asked Agent McGee to come to Afghanistan."

The Admiral was starting to feel queasy; Stephenson did not have a reputation for imbecility so the odds of him taking a harebrained decision were very small. But how in the world could he have requested for Tim's presence in a war zone? The boy was useless, pathetic and spineless, hardly a good recruit for tough-as-nails Marines. Never Tim would be courageous enough to participate in patrols and to shoot at enemies, and he was way too soft-hearted to even pretend interrogating prisoners! So what use Stephenson could have for such a dead wood? McGee Senior remained silent for a few seconds, missing the knowing look Tim exchanged with Stephenson.

And then, years of disparagement provided a wrong but apparently logical conclusion for a man who had despised his own son for longer than he could remember, prompting Admiral McGee to say :

"Oh, I see, General Stephenson. You needed someone to do grunt work at ISAF like cleaning windows, mopping floors and maybe type a few letters – well, you had the perfect man for that kind of job with Tim! That's his status in life, being at the service of his elders and betters. In spite of his education, he's only good to swallow the dust coming from the boots of those ahead of him!"

"Actually..." started to say Stephenson, but the Admiral's venom kept on flowing.

"So that was the _"big job"_ you were doing in Afghanistan, making you so busy you didn't have the time to write to us?" asked McGee's Senior, his furious eyes boring holes in his son's face. "Do you have any idea of how worried your mother was? Leaving the US with barely a note, keeping silent for months, all this because you're too much of a coward to admit that you were a hireling at ISAF? Gosh, the Marines must have had a field day with you! They must have laughed their heads off to see you, the son of a highly-regarded Admiral of the US Navy, being bossed around as if you were a lowlife servant – you brought shame on our family again but then, real men who risk life and limbs for our country need to laugh once in a while. At least you were useful to our troops in _that _domain, Tim; being a jester naturally comes to you and instead of wearing that suit, you should have a hood with bells sewed on it and a mace with ribbons, just like in the old days at kings' courts!"

The mention of a jester made Tim clench his jaw, as he remembered the time he had compared himself as the buffoon of Gibbs' court months ago, just before he had left for Afghanistan. It was a painful memory and his father had unknowingly twisted the knife inside the wound.

"Shut up, Dad," said the young McGee between gritted teeth.

"Shut up? How dare you answer back to me? You insolent little..."

"Please, Admiral! Now is not the time to start a family feud; within a few minutes, we will see the President granting the Presidential Medal of Freedom to the man who had designed CHRIS," reminded Stephenson with a no-nonsense tone.

The sluggish brains of Admiral McGee suddenly remembered the reason of his presence at the White House in the first place, namely to witness the presentation of that medal to the genius that had invented the Contrivance to Hit, Reveal, Identify and Save, aka CHRIS. This program, designed to detect enemies and weapons by using every detection technology available at the same time, had passed its running tests with flying colors in Afghanistan. Enemies would not stand a chance since CHRIS was able to warn the US armed forces way before terrorist attacks would be launched, nipping in the bud guerillas and hostage-takings attempts.

The Admiral had heard about CHRIS, of course – a man of his rank could not be kept in the dark about this breakthrough in warfare – and he had been amazed by the results. Soon CHRIS would be installed in planes and ships and McGee Senior could not wait to be the first Navy officer to use this program. Once the 'Top Secret' status would be lifted, he would personally insist to the Commander-in-Chief of the US armed forces to have CHRIS installed aboard one of his ships and then he would conduct a mission around the world to test this device above and below water!

"Ah yes, CHRIS! That little marvel of engineering and technology!" exclaimed the Admiral. "We will beat our enemies by the mile and those flea-infested terrorists will be arrested before they could even start planning an attack. They will cry on videos posted on the Internet that we've made a pact with the Devil but who cares about those small-brained rats? Our men will be safe, as well as our allies and terrorists won't be able to pray on civilians or journalists to justify their evil deeds. The man who has invented CHRIS has given the US forces an invaluable advantage!"

"Indeed, Admiral," said Stephenson, his grey eyes locked on Tim's incredulous emeralds.

"Yes, that's a man who fully deserves the title of 'genius' – and you ought to learn from his example, Tim!" shot McGee Senior towards his son. "Unlike you, that man certainly didn't waste hours playing ridiculous on-line games, writing poor novels or working for a bottom-of-the-barrel Federal agency. He must have worked on this program 24/7 for years to reach such an impressive result; that's dedication for you, and that man is promised to a bright future. I'll be the first one to shake his hand and congratulate him – after the President, of course."

"Of course," repeated an ironic Stephenson.

The young McGee, from his part, could hardly believe the _Ubuesque_ situation he was in: his father was loudly praising CHRIS while having no idea it was the son he snubbed who had designed it from A to Z! Tim opened his mouth to set the record straight but a discreet wink from the General stopped him dead on his tracks as the Admiral kept on rambling:

"Yes, men like these are the future – our homeland will be safe, and our men will be protected on air, by sea and on land," said McGee Senior. "Our enemies' chiefs will quack in their shoes and all their followers will run like the proverbial rats, too scared of their own shadows to dare lifting a finger against our forces. Oh sure, there will always be one of two airheads who will try to have a go at becoming heroes but that CHRIS marvel will deliver them right into the palms of our hands."

"Quite right, Admiral!" said Stephenson with a half-smile.

"The one who has designed CHRIS is a real man working diligently for his country, instead of playing cops and robbers all day along in DC like you do, Tim! Look at you, a semblance of a Federal Agent who has been summoned to the White House so you could wait tables and sweep the floors. To think of all that good money wasted on your education…"

Luckily for Tim, a General of the Air Force entered the Reception Area, apparently on his way to attend the ceremony as well. Since it was a man Admiral McGee happened to know (and longed to impress), he stopped his venomous diatribe against his son right away and walked toward the Air Force officer with a fake smile plastered on his face, leaving Tim and Stephenson behind without a word of politeness or a backward glance. As McGee Senior greeted the visitor, much to the man's obvious annoyance, Tim turned towards Stephenson and said in a forlorn voice:

"I am so sorry about all this, Sir! I wish to apologize."

"There is no need and it is not in your place to apologize, son. It is not the first time I've witnessed your father's inability to behave in public and I daresay he hasn't improved with age, but you are not responsible for his conduct. It is so easy – and unjust – to blame kids for their parents' misbehavior, and vice-versa. Anytime I've witnessed this pattern, I just say _"Ezekiel, 18:20"_. Do you know that quote?"

"I do, Sir."

"No wonders here, with that encyclopedia hidden inside your skull!" said Stephenson with a chuckle.

"Please, Sir… Why didn't you tell my father that I was the one who designed CHRIS?" asked Tim with a touch of fear in his voice. He could not comprehend why Stephenson had not rectified the misunderstanding as soon as the Admiral had started singing loud praises towards the 'genius' involved in the program. The award ceremony would start any minute and Admiral McGee would not fail to realize that it had been his own son who had succeeded in making CHRIS, the ultimate detection device, a reality. But why Stephenson had remained silent during the whole time, apart from approving every now and then the Admiral in his panegyric speech? And why had he stopped him from telling his father that CHRIS was Tim's brainchild?

The General's mysterious and condescending attitude had been puzzling to say the least; it was a far cry from the souvenir of the man Tim had met at ISAF and Tim repressed a shudder as his old insecurities tried to raise their ugly heads inside his mind.

"All will be explained in good time, son. All will be explained," answered the General in a calm tone and it soothed Tim's anxiety… for a bit. An awkward silence followed, interrupted only by the voice of Admiral McGee at the other side of the Reception Area, and then Stephenson said:

"It's good to see you again, son."

"T-Thank you, Sir," answered Tim, cursing himself for the slip of his stuttering tongue. He squared his shoulders and straightened his back, refusing to let his father or his fears to spoil this special day. Like he had said to Vance at his return, the days of abuse against Timothy McGee were over!

"You look good, too: you don't have those dark circles around your eyes and it seems you have acquired some peace of mind. Have you started working for NCIS again?"

"Not yet, Sir. Director Vance has put me on sick leave and I have to go to therapy sessions until I'm cleared for duty, and then I'll be transferred to our LA office."

"Oh, you'll be working for Hetty, then!" exclaimed Stephenson with laughing eyes. "Don't let her size fool you, son: she's a stick of concentrated dynamite and when she blows off, there is a lot of collateral damage."

"I've worked with her in the past, Sir, albeit briefly – but I liked the way she ran her team. No favoritism, no bullying, a relaxed but professional work atmosphere, everyone doing the job by respecting fellow team members and getting results as good as Gibbs', which is exactly what I'm looking for to broaden my experience."

"Speaking of whom… Gibbs is probably not too happy about you leaving him, hmm? Is he giving you a hard time, son?" asked Stephenson with a dangerous gleam in his grey eyes.

"He doesn't know yet, Sir," answered Tim in a hurry. "Director Vance has forbidden me to say anything to my teammates before I'd leave for the West Coast. He knew this transfer would cause turmoil and he wants to avoid scenes as much as possible, otherwise the mood at NCIS will become impossible to work in for the rest of the other Agents."

"Yeah, Gibbs won't take it too kindly, considering the ruckus he has made after you left for Afghanistan: I can still remember the letter he wrote to you after your departure – the one I've intercepted it, and I hope you'll forgive me about this one day…"

"To tell the truth, Sir, I've forgiven you as soon as I've learned about it; I knew you had my best interests at heart and you were right, it wouldn't have done me any good to read Gibbs' letter while working on the Special Project at ISAF," said Tim with a smile, and Stephenson gently squeezed the young man's shoulder.

"God, you're exactly like my Christopher; he too had a forgiving nature coupled with intelligence able to see further than the rest of us mere mortals. I really wish you'd have met him, son: you two would have been the best friends in the world! It's too bad you have to keep silent about your moving to LA, though, but Vance knows what he's doing: your soon-to-be-ex-teammates didn't sound to be of the supportive kind, considering the way Gibbs described them in his letter, and doubtless they would make your life a living Hell until you'd finally head for the airport."

"Well, one of my teammates knows about me leaving for California but has sworn to keep secret about it, and this person is not of the kind to be impressed by attempts to extort information."

That piece of news rose Stephenson's curiosity: "Oh, really? One of your teammates knows about it?"

"Yes, Sir," said Tim, unable to prevent the accursed blush from spreading on his cheeks: the memory of Ziva was simply too… _wow_!

"Wouldn't it be a _woman,_ by chance? A dark-haired looker with a beauty of a right hook and a taste for sharpened knives?"

"The very same, Sir."

Stephenson had a hard time to not burst out laughing; Agent David, of course! It was mathematical! The General had a vivid recollection of the ferocious woman who had knocked down every Marine reckless enough to stand on her way until she had found McGee in his room at ISAF's hospital, and how she had stood guard at the young man's side until he had recovered from the wounds sustained during the attack. David had provided much-needed moral support as well, after McGee had been traumatized by the death of Captain Wilkins and the three other Marines – and she had held herself admirably during the whole time, helping McGee to cope with his loss while she was obviously in love with him. Stephenson had kind of hoped McGee would realize the sentiments David bore for him once they would be both back in DC and it was exactly what had happened, by the looks of it! Corporal Roberts would jump out in joy learning the undercover Fed and the ex-Mossad were a couple!

"Congratulations, son," said Stephenson as he shook Tim's hand. "I am very glad you've found a new love in Agent David."

"Thank you, Sir – but it is all thanks to the pep talk you gave me in your office before I left Afghanistan. You told me to not turn my back to life when it would offer me a second chance in the shape of a good woman, and you were right all along. Ziva… Agent David is more than a good woman: she's wonderful, plain and simple. I will never forget Aimee… Captain Wilkins as long as I live; I'll always be grateful for the love we've shared. She gave me wings, General, and now I'm finally flying. I regret she's not here to witness it…"

"She _**is**_ witnessing it, son. Captain Wilkins is watching us from Heaven, and she's as proud of you as I am. Nothing would make her miss the day of your triumph, not even death!"

The two men smiled at each other, and then a gruff voice asked:

"Still trying to take my man away from me, General Stephenson?"

Tim and Stephenson turned around to see it was NCIS Director Leon Vance who had asked the question. The man was immaculately dressed in a dark suit and tie but his face looked a bit different, probably due to the fact he did not have a toothpick at the corner of his mouth. Tim was happy to see his superior but could not help but cast an anxious glance in the direction of his father, as he knew the Admiral and Vance were not in speaking terms (Ziva had told him all about the McGee parents making a scandal at the bullpen, and how Vance had politely but efficiently kicked them out). Thankfully, the Admiral was still in a conversation with the General of the Air Force and had not noticed the presence of take-no-crap Leon Vance.

Tim also noted the Reception Area had been filled with persons while he was talking with General Stephenson. There were about half a dozen men and women, all of them in uniform and bearing impressive medal bars on their vests, not to forget various insignias on their cuffs and shoulder pads. There were also a few Security Special Agents standing guard at the doors and a Staff Secretary scribbling notes on a clip-on board, making sure every guest had arrived for the ceremony.

"Perish the thought, Director Vance! I was just congratulating Agent McGee for the marvelous job he had done, and wishing him all happiness for his plans in the future."

"A future linked with NCIS," reminded Vance.

"Of course," said Stephenson good-naturedly.

At that same moment, the Deputy Chief of Staff arrived at the Reception Area and asked the men and women to follow him at the Oval Office as the award ceremony was imminent. Admiral McGee immediately took head of the cortege, in a hurry to make a good impression to the Commander-in-Chief of the US Armed Forces. Tim let out a sigh, but a nod from Vance and a discreet pat on the shoulder by Stephenson raised his spirits and he followed suit, walking down the Main Corridor to enter the Oval Office by its Northwest Door.

* * *

><p><em>At the Oval Office…<em>

Tim watched attentively as the President welcomed the guests one after another. Protocol allowed the highest-ranking persons to sit on the pair of sofas facing the marble fireplace with its Neoclassical mantel and Admiral McGee wasted no time in lowering himself on the best seat, in spite of reprobate looks from his fellow Navy officers. Tim seized the opportunity to admire the Oval Office, taking note of the striped wallpaper, the grandfather clock ticking the time away, the red draperies covering three large South-facing windows behind the Resolute Desk (built around 1880 with timbers taken from the British Arctic Exploration ship _Resolute_) and the taupe rug showing quotes from former Presidents on its borders. One glance upwards made Tim notice the plaster ceiling medallion presenting elements of the seal of the President of the United States. There were also many artworks in the Oval Office, amongst them a portrait of George Washington by Rembrandt Peale, Norman Rockwell's _Statue of Liberty_ and busts of Abraham Lincoln and Martin Luther King, Jr., not to forget a copy of the Emancipation Proclamation next to the fireplace.

General Stephenson was seated on the sofa facing Admiral McGee; Vance was placed just behind Stephenson, next to a portrait of Abraham Lincoln by George Henry Story. The other officers were gathered round the office, a military aide was holding the case containing the Presidential Medal of Freedom and a dark-haired man, the photographer, was getting ready to shot pictures. Tim had been asked by one of the Security Special Agents to stand in front of the Resolute Desk, whereas one of his colleagues remained behind Admiral McGee. Apparently, somebody had tipped off the security staff about the volatile mood of that especially cumbersome Navy officer and precautions had been taken to ensure the award ceremony would go smoothly.

And a good thing, too: as soon as the Admiral saw his son standing to attention in front of the President's desk. What was that worthless son of his doing, hogging the limelight like this? His rightful place was in the background, in the shadows; he was supposed to make himself invisible while the President would talk to the Big Boys assembled in the Oval Office!

Robert McGee opened his mouth to scold Tim but a hand landing on his shoulder stopped him short; startled, he looked up and saw it was a Security Secret Agent that was keeping him in place on the sofa with an iron grip that did not bode well for the Admiral's future.

"Sit still and keep still, _**Sir**_," said the Security Secret Agent with a low and icy voice, making the Admiral shudder uncontrollably. Stephenson watched the scene with laughing eyes and Vance inwardly wished he could have taken a picture with his Smartphone.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen," said the President of the United States. "I am pleased to see you all have been able to come to this ceremony. It brings me great pleasure to award the Presidential Medal of Freedom to a man that has gone to extraordinary lengths for his country, for his fellow citizens, and for the brave men and women of the Armed Forces. This medal is the highest civilian award of the United States and it recognizes individuals who have made an especially meritorious contribution to the security or national interests of the United States, world peace, cultural or other significant public or private endeavors. This is a special award rewarding honorees that had been blessed with talent and driven by extraordinary courage and an iron-like will to achieve their goals. It is thanks to their determination that the United States of America had benefited from their work in fields of various but equally importance. For the man awarded today, those fields are Computing, Law, Military and Science."

The President paused for a few seconds, making sure everyone gathered in the Oval Office was paying attention before carrying on: "For years, our country has been at war against terrorism and troops deployed abroad have faced unimaginable dangers to defend freedom from those who would enslave their families, their neighbors and their own land out of greed or ignorance. The terrorists' favorite tool is fear and they plant it in the heart and soul of their fellow citizens by perpetrating blind attacks, regardless of the innocent victims that could fall from their evil actions. The bravery of our soldiers, coupled with advanced technology, has allowed the United States to pursue this ongoing war. However, and by a stroke of brilliance, a man has invented a computer program that will give our country the upper hand. This program, named CHRIS, is able to detect bombs, hidden caches of weapons and canisters of poisonous gas, all this under the simple appearance of an inoffensive-looking laptop. Multiple tests have been made and all of them have been conclusive: CHRIS has helped not only in protecting our soldiers, but also in saving civilians' lives and neutralizing terrorists before they could even carry on their schemes of destruction. Within a few months, CHRIS will be installed in planes, ships and on every mobile unit of the infantry; it will give the United States an enormous advantage over our enemies and there are no doubts in my mind that its designer will become as famous as Robert Page, the scientist behind the development of radar technology and one of the stars of the U.S. Naval Research Laboratory."

"The man awarded today is not only a genius in military technology and computing science; he's also a devoted law enforcement officer who works daily at the service of the US Marines Corp., bringing perpetrators to justice and keeping our homeland safe from terrorists. This man, ladies and gentleman, is NCIS Special Agent Timothy McGee," said the President with a movement of the hand towards Tim.

A muffled gurgle was heard near the sofas, but could not be heard over the round of applause that was heard in the Oval Office. Admiral McGee, still restrained on his seat by the Security Special Agent's grip, had nearly a heart attack while hearing the President's speech. Tim… the man who had invented the CHRIS device was no other than Tim? **That useless boy he was forced to call his son had created CHRIS?**

That was impossible! There must be something wrong with his hearing! Tim could not be the one who has designed a program so efficient it could change the whole face of warfare – he simply could not! His son was a coward, a seasick-prone weakling, a disgrace to the proud name of McGee!

The Security Special Agent tightened his grip on the Admiral's shoulder, making the elder McGee wince under the pain. Then his face turned from white to red after he saw the smile on General Stephenson's lips and the amused look on Director Vance's face, igniting his ire.

"_They knew. These two-faced hypocrites, they knew all along that Tim had designed the CHRIS program! They knew and they've never told me! They let me make a fool out of myself earlier, in the Reception Area, while I was praising out loud the inventor of CHRIS!"_ thought the Admiral in a fury.

"Special Agent McGee has been working for NCIS for years, a federal agency renowned for its efficiency in dealing with cases involving US Marines or their families. Not only has he shown unfaltering courage under fire and a sharp intelligence out in the field, but he is unsurpassable in finding clues via computer technologies, leading to the arrest of murderers and drug dealers. When the CHRIS project was launched, NCIS Director Leon Vance has assured me Special Agent McGee is a man of exceptional character and would do wonders in designing and testing the program in the extreme conditions of one of the worst warzones, Afghanistan – a statement that had been confirmed later by General Alexander Stephenson of the US Marines, in charge of the ISAF base in Kabul. Special Agent McGee has braved terrible perils during his stay in Afghanistan; he has been kidnapped and tortured; he has escaped from his abductors on his own and walked miles across the desert before he could reach safety; and once he was back at ISAF, he worked day and night on the CHRIS program to achieve it three months ahead of schedule, going above and beyond the call of duty."

Admiral McGee's face turned from beetroot red to deep purple, then from sea blue to sickly green, and in the end from acidic yellow to dirty white. This was too much; this was simply too much! Tim was going to be granted the Presidential Medal of Freedom, the highest civilian award of the United States… and Robert McGee had shouted from the rooftops that his son was an incapable! Good God, but it would spell his doom! His reputation within the Navy would go down in flames, and everybody would laugh behind his back and in front of his face!

"Ladies and gentleman, for this admirable and modest man who has done so much for the safety of American soldiers and civilians alike, it is my honor and pleasure to present him this medal symbolizing his courage and intelligence."

General Stephenson's heart busted with pride inside his chest; Vance thought about the fallouts NCIS would benefit from once the news of one of his Agents been rewarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom would become public knowledge. To think some pretentious Directors considered NCIS' place to be at the bottom level of the federal agencies' food chain… Well, too bad for them but Leon Vance had scored a home run on the day he had agreed to let McGee leave for Afghanistan!

The military aide stepped forward, opened the case and announced in a clear voice:

"The Presidential Medal of Freedom is awarded to NCIS Special Agent Timothy McGee!"

A thunderous round of applause erupted in the Oval Office as the President pinned the medal on Tim's chest. The moved young man shook the President's hand and thanked him warmly for the honor he had bestowed him, but the Commander-in-Chief replied that it was nothing compared to the exceptional service he had done for his country. The photographer immortalized the moment with a few clicks of his digital camera and once the pictures were taken, the other Navy, Air Force and Land Army officers shook turns to shake Tim's hand, at the notable exception of Admiral Robert McGee: the man was still seated on the sofa, sill maintained in place by a Security Service Agent's grip, and still in shock. His face was livid and his mind was reeling from the revelations that had unfolded before his eyes.

_Tim was the inventor of the CHRIS program…_

_Tim was the genius behind the program…_

_Tim had been captured by terrorists…_

_Tim had escaped…_

_Tim had been awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom…_

_Tim had beaten everyone by a thousand miles…_

_Including his father, who had never suspected a thing!_

General Stephenson and Director Vance wasted no time in congratulating a beaming Tim, who was holding the case containing the ribbon to wear on the left chest, a miniature medal pendant and a lapel badge to wear on civilian clothes. Even though the young McGee was enormously pleased, he managed to keep a cool head and remained polite towards all the guests, thanking them for their kind words and assuring them that CHRIS would work for the benefit of every branch of the US armed forces, without any exceptions. But Tim had a hard time refraining himself from hugging General Stephenson right there and here, or to do the same thing with Director Vance. They had played an enormous part in the project and he would not have gone far without Stephenson's benevolence and Vance's support – they ought to be awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom as well but both men waved away Tim's arguments:

"Think nothing of the sort, son," said Stephenson. "CHRIS is your baby, entirely yours and this medal is the recognition of all the work you've done. I've merely offered you bed and board in Kabul!"

"And it is my duty to support my people when they are deployed abroad, Agent McGee – especially when they bring back fantastic results!" added Vance. "You're too modest to realize it but after CHRIS has become an integral part of the US military gear, there will be no limits to our abilities in foiling attacks before they can even be launched. Thanks to you, we have now twenty years of advance on our enemies…"

A movement at the other side of the room made Tim, Vance and Stephenson turn about just in time to see Admiral McGee being silently but efficiently escorted out by the Northeast door, flanked by two Security Special Agents. Some of the guests were too busy to exchange words with the President to notice the Admiral's expulsion; others feigned to see nothing while the rest were posing for the photographer.

"…And whoever refusing to acknowledge your service to our country will be mercilessly removed," finished Vance with a severe scowl on his face, watching from afar the pitiful form of Admiral McGee being expelled from the Oval Office like last week's garbage.

"Truth is!" said a frowning General Stephenson. "To quote Sir Francis Bacon, "_Scientia potentia est__"_: knowledge is power, and those who provide us with reliable knowledge should be adequately awarded."

"Quite right, gentlemen," added a third voice, and Tim realized with a start that it was the President.

TBC…


	95. An intrusion

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- An ultimatum (Latin for "_the last one__"_) is a demand whose fulfillment is requested in a specified period of time, and backed up by a threat to be followed through in case of noncompliance (from Wikipedia).

- The _Mission: Impossible_ films are a series of films based on the TV series of the same name, starring American actor Tom Cruise (from Wikipedia).

- To DoublaV: The Badmiral will have a hard time to recover from the humiliation he has sustained at the White House.

- To cree: I am glad you liked the ceremony at the White House: in my humble opinion Admiral McGee got what he deserved!

- To Seds: Mrs. McGee will try to blame her son as usual but a certain ninja girl will set the record straight.

- To Kevivn: the Admiral won't be kicked out of the Navy, but he will probably remain in a dead-end desk job until retirement!

- To Momcat: _merci beaucoup_ for your comments! I prefer to use poetry instead of graphic descriptions for a love scene. To quote Samuel Taylor Coleridge: _"Poetry: the best words in the best order"_.

- To RedDragen: thank you! I hope you will enjoy this new chapter.

- To Guest: the team's reaction about Tim's award will be colorful, to say the least! Thankfully, Tim knows who his real friends are.

- To Jeika: I enjoyed fooling the Badmiral, believe me! xD

- To earthdragon: General Stephenson took all the needed steps to avoid the drunk and heinous Admiral to spoil the award ceremony. Tim will remain at NCIS but General Stephenson will become a surrogate father to him.

- To Sprouthater: I am glad you enjoyed the way the Security Secret Agents handled the Badmiral.

- To Guest: thank you for your kind comments!

- To MarkyV: McGee Senior finally saw the light about his son's genius, and the same thing will happen to some people at NCIS.

- To None: it's too bad the Admiral had to learn the hard way that old saying: _"You reap what you've sown"_!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 94: An intrusion<strong>

_Meanwhile, near Tim's apartment building…_

Abby Sciuto was driving her candy-apple red Ford 1932 Deuce Coupe with a maniacal grin on her face, scaring the living daylights of the other drivers in her path but she did not give a damn about them. She was heading for Tim's apartment building with a spring in her step: today was The Day, when she would get her well-deserved revenge!

Her brilliant brains had concocted the perfect plan and, within a few hours, she would have the Traitor grovel at her feet and beg for forgiveness like the dog he was. Not only had he tried to ruin Abby's reputation at NCIS, but then he had the nerve – the ultimate gall – to come back from abroad showered with praise and under the protection of that blockhead Director, making McGee imagine he was above any kind of retribution. W-R-O-N-G, Mister! In fact, he would see the errors of his way... real soon!

McGee had gotten an attitude during his stay abroad and she had not liked it in the slightest. The computer tech had threatened Tony with a knife, stood up against Gibbs and he had even used brute force against her! And the worst part had been her silver-haired fox not defending her: in fact, he had told her repetitively to go back to her lab without listening to her pleas and it was an outrage. Gibbs would have to work very hard to obtain her forgiveness as well, in the lines of providing her with Caf-Pow drinks for the rest of her life and cancelling her debts – that last point being killing two birds with one stone, since Abby had squandered the bridge loan Gibbs had provided her. Tony would have to clean up the lab for a year and chauffer her to all the Goth music concerts she wanted to attend, or else! Vance would have no other choice than to erase her suspension and Peterson's complain from her file. As for Ziva, that no-good Ziva... She would learn the hard way that fooling around with Abby's personal property could be dangerous.

But first things first: the first person on her blacklist was Timothy McGee and, once he would be brought down, nothing would stand in Abby's way. McGee had his head grown so big from the few cuts and scratches he had gotten in Afghanistan that he thought he could strut around like a peacock throughout NCIS like he owned the place. The Traitor was going to get quite a wake-up call and no jury would condemn her!

No arguments from Gibbs had managed to make Abby change her mind about the computer tech; she was still perceiving him as a traitor who had sabotaged her career at NCIS before betraying her by sleeping with Ziva, all this in a deliberate move to destroy the Lab Rat. Well, she would show McGee and the others that rats have teeth and could transmit rabies, so they were not creatures to be overlooked – she would show them all what happened when someone tried to mess with Abby Sciuto, and she would do it without her protector. In fact, it would teach the other Federal Agents and lab technicians a lesson as they considered her as Gibbs' little princess, unable to fight her own battles. Well, they would stand corrected! She would reclaim her rightful title of _'Star of NCIS' _and everybody would bow to her will: no-one, not even Director Vance, could cross Abby Sciuto unpunished.

Abby had made up a simple, failure-proof plan: first, she would go to The Traitor's place and pick up Jethro. Then, once the dog safely locked up in her car, she would go back to the flat and thoroughly trash it in retaliation for having been a Bad McGee. Everything would be destroyed – the TV, computers, books, DVDs, video-games, typewriter and photo albums. She would pay some extra care to the bed, tearing the sheets into shreds and gutting the mattress as punishment for having done the beast with two backs with Ziva. Then she would trash the kitchen – all the food from the fridge and the freezer sprayed on the walls – before pouring cooking oil on the clothes dumped on the floor, ruining McGee's wardrobe: it would serve him right for having made a fuss about his Armani jacket. And then, last but not the least, she would overload the washing machine and turn it on, provoking a flood that would damage the Traitor's furniture and put him in trouble with the people living below: nothing beat a little fight between neighbors and McGee would have to scrap all the money he had gotten from writing those awful _'Deep Six'_ books to pay for the damages.

The Lab Rat chuckled at the thought of Tim finding his flat ruined, his belongings destroyed, his dog gone: boy, she wished she could be a fly in the wall to witness his reaction! The new Golden Boy of NCIS would find himself naked, broke and homeless, the laughing stock of the Federal Agency and the best part of it was, no one would be able to pin the deed on Abby! Because she was not the Queen of Forensic Sciences for nothing: she would be cautious not to leave a DNA trace at Tim's flat; she would burn the clothes she was wearing – including underwear – right after her mission would be completed. Her current boyfriend, Arthur "Ace" Varga (a rich kid and drugged-up fool who worshiped the ground she walked on) had agreed to keep Jethro at his place for as long as she wanted, so McGee could not accuse Abby of dog-napping like that creep Sommerset had done at Langdon Park.

Abby quickly reached her destination and parked her car in the street; no way would she leave it in the parking lot of Tim's building, with CCTV cameras around and her Deuce Coupe was too easily recognizable. She checked her backpack one last time to make sure she had not forgotten anything: the leash for Jethro, a pack of chocolate chip cookies to spoil the dog so he would stay quiet while in her car, lock-picking tools, a baseball cap to hide her face and hair, and a pair of gloves. She hated the clothes she had on (jeans, dark grey hooded sweat-shirt and a pair of sneakers) but she had to remain cautious; a nosey neighbor spotting a Goth woman in the vicinity of Tim's flat could compromise everything, and Abby did not want to waste her chances to get even with McGee.

She had been thinking about her revenge for a long time, but she had despaired to find the right time to act. And then, in the morning and while in the women's bathroom, she had accidentally overheard a conversation between that snitch Pamela and Ellie – a lab technician who had expressed a strong dislike in Abby's loud music. Pam was telling about being allowed to leave the agency early this evening since Vance would be gone all day, attending some worthless ceremony at the White House with McGee and Ellie had a pair of tickets for the new _'Mission Impossible'_ movie.

The prospect of watching Tom Cruise save the world for two and a half hours had made the two women giggle like schoolgirls and Abby would have vomited in her bathroom cubicle if it had not been for the important news Pamela had inadvertently given her. McGee would be away from his flat for the whole day: it was the perfect time to strike!

Taking this eavesdropping as an omen, Abby had borrowed Tony's lock-picking tools and it had been a piece of cake, too: he always kept them in the top drawer of his desk and it was never locked. This big oaf was so certain nobody would dare to rummage through the personal things of Very Special Agent Tony DiNozzo! Abby would put them back once the job was done and nobody would be the wiser, since Tony was not the most observant of investigators. Gibbs had been so absorbed in reading data on his computer screen that he had not even noticed Abby lurking about Tony's desk; in normal times, she would have resented his inattentiveness but for once, it suited her purposes. Then, she had announced for the whole lab to hear that she was doing paperwork in her office and would not be disturbed by anyone – not that the other scientists would ever dare to bother her, though; they avoided Abby like the plague those days, thanks to the complaint launched by that creep Peterson. But she had fooled them all by arranging things to look as if she was working in her office, and then she had slipped outside to get her car, pick up a few things at her flat, and drive to the Traitor's apartment building.

Abby quickly put on the baseball cap and hid her pigtails under the headgear; she donned on the gloves, grabbed the backpack and locked up her car before heading towards her target. Getting inside the building could be done by using an old ruse: pressing on every button of the interphone until she would find someone stupid enough to believe she was delivering packages or a pizza, and buzz open the main entrance's door. But then, the Lab Rat spotted something that cheered up her spirits: an old man was trying to get outside the building but he was struggling with the heavy glass door while maneuvering his walker at the same time.

Abby never hesitated; she jumped in, held the door wide open and said in a fake low voice:

"Here you go, Sir!"

"Thanks, sonny," mumbled the elderly gentleman bent over his walker, his failing eyesight spotting only a slim silhouette clad in boy's clothes and wearing a baseball cap. Doubtless he had thought the helping hand was a teenager doing a good action towards a senior… Abby would have busted out in laughter from the old man's naiveté but she had more important things to do.

One elevator ride later, the Goth woman was standing just outside McGee's apartment door. She took a prudent peek at the corridor, looking right, looking left; no sign of anyone, the coast was clear. She took out the lock-picking tools from her backpack and started to work on the door.

It was harder than she had initially thought and Abby almost regretted Tony was not around to help – not that she had a chance to enroll him in her vendetta in the first place. The self-centered doofus would have screamed out in terror if she had asked for his experience in picking McGee's door lock, as he was terrified of anything that could compromise his chances to ever regain his status of Senior Field Agent. Tony's ego had been irremediably damaged after hearing the review board's verdict and since then, he had worked in abject submission to the agency's rules in the hope to rebuild his reputation as _"NCIS' finest agent"_. Abby knew Tony would have sold out his grandmother for a chance to erase that spot on his record and she could not afford to waste time trying to convince him: for all she knew, Tony would have denounced her to Vance in exchange of a full pardon!

The tools were difficult to use and one of them slipped on the lock, leaving a mark on the metal and Abby cursed under her breath. Damn it! Being a burglar was not easy work; and there was the added stress brought by the possibility that Jethro was not in Tim's flat, but locked up in the basement for another session of brainwashing. Unfortunately, Abby had no idea which area of the basement belonged to McGee and she could not be spotted wandering around in the building. If Jethro was not at the flat, she would stick to her vandalizing plan but she would have to renounce in taking the German shepherd and content herself with a hollow victory. Her revenge would not be complete if she could not snatch Jethro away from McGee!

After twenty stress-filled minutes of struggle, cursing and scratching at the lock, one of the hooks finally did the job and the door turned on its hinges, allowing Abby to enter the place. The Goth woman smiled in sheer delight as she stuffed the lock-picking tools into the backpack. Within minutes she would save Jethro from this dreadful place, and then she would come back and turn the apartment into ruins!

Overjoyed by the thought, Abby entered the flat with a smirk on her face, unaware that she had been watched from the peephole of Mrs. Bergman's front door.

* * *

><p><em>At the same moment, inside Tim's flat…<em>

An eighty-five pound German shepherd was facing the entrance's door, getting ready to attack an intruder: his legs were straight and his head uplifted; the hackles on his neck were raised; his tail was straight out, up in the air; his lips were curled, bearing his sharp teeth but he was not growling… yet. Once the intruder would be inside, the dog would let out angry, graveling sounds to give the unwanted visitor a hint about his stupidity of having invaded the wrong territory.

Jet was an affectionate dog totally devoted to his master and new mistress; he usually refrained from violence (unless he had to trash a few rivals during the mating season) and took great pride in knowing how to behave in a place filled with humans, young and old. However, he was also a guarding dog and his keen senses had warned him about a presence just outside the door limiting the territory he shared with "Teem" and, recently, with "Zee-va". The human outside had been scratching at the door for a good moment, giving Jet the time to analyze the intruder's smell and the results had angered him.

It was "Abee".

Jet did not have a nice souvenir of that female human with the shrilling voice, who had nearly perforated his eardrums while locking both her arms around his neck at the risk of strangling him, during his stay in that white place that looked a bit like the vet's. When "Teem" had finally taken to his home, Jet had felt a huge amount of relief at the thought of leaving "Abee" far behind him. Time had flown and the dog had not given the female human a second thought until that dreadful encounter in the park while playing with "Andee". Jet remembered "Abee" trying to lure him back into her bone-crushing arms and he had fled that horrible perspective; "Andee" had protected him against that deranged female until a male human in blue "clo-zes" had showed up and dragged a kicking and screaming "Abee" out of the park.

After his master had come home, Jet had been overjoyed and he had been certain nothing would part them again; even the arrival of "Zee-va" in their territory had not changed anything – it was obvious she wanted to share their life and have a litter of younglings with "Teem", something Jet had absolutely no objections against. However, an incident had troubled the dog's quietude: one day, after his daily walk with "Ma-hike", he had smelt cheese, sugar, chocolate and tomatoes on the recently-cleaned floor of the hallway. That simple fact was already strange, since this kind of food was usually never left on the floor near the "leeft" but Jet had picked up another lingering scent, faint but recognizable, and belonging to a human he had hoped never to see again: it had been "Abee".

Jet let out a soft growl; that day, he had understood that she had been prowling around and "Teem" had chased her away, provoking the destruction of the food. His master had not said a word about this incident but the dog had smelt anger emanating from the male human, prompting the dog to redouble his efforts in guarding their shared territory – and it had paid off: Jet was more than ready to confront "Abee".

As on cue, the Goth woman entered Tim's flat and crossed the hallway in two strides, just to shriek in joy at the view of the German shepherd in the living-room.

"Jethro! Oh, you good doggie, there you are! Come, Jethro, come to Abby; I'm taking you out of here! You will have a nice ride in my car and then I'll drop you at Ace's place, where you'll be safe from that Bad McGee. Come to me, now, that's a good fellow!"

Abby made the movement to grab the dog by his collar but a sudden snarl cut her short; startled, she recoiled and realized a bit too late that Jet looked positively furious.

"Jethro? What are you doing, my good doggie, don't you recognize me?" asked the Goth woman with the whiniest voice ever. "It's me, Abby, your friend! The only real friend you have; the one who has saved you from that horrible Director Sheppard! What is it, pet, have you forgotten me? I'd have come to see you more but that Bad McGee has barred me from the door, if you can believe such insolence! But he will pay, oh yes – he'll pay for everything he has done to me, and to you. Here, now, smell my hand and you'll know I'm your friend Abby…"

Jet only growled louder, getting ready to pounce at the woman. She was definitively of the stupid kind: he was sending her all the warning signs known to dogs and she kept on trying to grab him!

"Oh Jethro, you sweet dog, what did that Bad McGee has done to you? He has brainwashed you so much with that awful computer of his that you cannot recognize your friend Abby? Oh you poor, poor doggie! But don't worry, I'll save you from him even if it's the last thing I'll do. I'll prove to Director Vance that you've endured brutalities at the hands of McGee and he'll kick him out of NCIS, hero or not."

More growling followed, but it did not stop Abby from pursuing : "You will come to live with me, and my landlord has better keep his mouth shut if he knows what's good for him. Don't worry, Jethro, you're safe now. Let me get you out of this flat and you'll be free. You want to be free, don't you? Yes, of course, you do. Now, just let me grab your collar and we'll be on our way…"

Jet's only answer to this promise was a series of loud barking; Abby jumped back, terrified by this sudden turn of events. Jethro did not seem to want to come with her; in fact, he was treating her like an enemy! She had underestimated McGee's evilness: the dog had been brainwashed for too long, he could not recognize her. Maybe McGee had trained the German shepherd to react violently every time he showed Jethro a picture of her?

"Jethro, no! Be quiet! Shh, shh! Stop that barking!" exclaimed the Goth woman, her face turning white: all that racket could raise the alarm and she would have a hard time explaining what she was doing in the Traitor's flat, trying to drag out a struggling dog on a leash. Tim had mentioned his neighbors many times and one or two of those old fossils could try to show his ear in, disrupting her great revenge plan.

Abby hated to do this but desperate times called for desperate measures; in spite of Jet's snarls and growls, she managed to get the leash out of her backpack, with the intention of clicking it on the dog's collar and then drag him out of the flat by force. But the simple sight of a leash that was not his increased Jet's anger to the point of incandescence. Never would he accept to be restrained by a stranger, never!

"Jethro, please hold still! It's for your own good…"

But Abby had not the chance to say anything else: annoyed by the female human's stubbornness, Jet let out his loudest bark, a final warning doubled with an ultimatum.

"Jethro! Ssh, ssh! Calm down! It's me, Abby! Be a good dog and be quiet! No, be quiet! Stop that stupid barking! Be quiet, NOW!" pleaded the panicking Lab Rat while desperately trying to find the best angle to attach the leash on the collar, but the dog was constantly moving and his growls were getting more and more worrisome.

And then, a thought crossed her mind like a blinding flash of light in the night.

_The chocolate chip cookies!_

Of course! The best way to calm down an angry dog was to feed him a treat! And she had a bagful of goodies!

"Oh Jethro, please! If you stop barking, I'll give you a cookie. A nice cookie full of chocolate for a good dog, that's what you wanted, yes?" asked Abby, dropping the leash on the ground to reach out for her backpack. "Oh yes, that's what you wanted. You smelt the cookies in my bag and you could not understand why I didn't give them to you right away. Don't worry, sweetie, you'll have them in a minute. Just let me get them out of the backpack and you'll have all the cookies you want – and to Hell with McGee, who says chocolate is bad for dogs! What does he know, anyway? I'm the only one who really understands what you need, Jethro!"

Jet had had enough; if "Abee" did not understand the meaning of growls and barks, then he would have to use a more radical mean to get rid of this territory intruder with the nerve-wrecking voice.

Abby turned around for a second to unzip the pocket containing the chocolate chip cookies; at the same moment, Jet pounced.

"**AAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGHHHHH!"**

Abby yelped in horror as Jet's teeth sank deep into her jean-covered posterior. The attack lasted only for a second but the Goth woman could hardly believe what had just happened. Jethro, the sweetest dog on Earth, had bitten her!

"Jethro! But what are you doing…. **AAAAAUUUUUGGGGHHHH!**" yelled Abby as the dog bit her at the same spot a second time.

At the same moment, a human male voice rang out through the flat:

"**FREEZE! Police!"**

Abby dropped the backpack out of surprise, her eyes as round as saucers at the sight of two uniformed cops with their weapons drawn. Oh my God, they were aiming the guns at her; they were actually aiming the guns at her! No, no, that was impossible! Where was Gibbs?

"Put your hands in the air, right now! And no funny stuff!" shouted one of the cops and Abby obeyed at once, her heart thumping inside her chest. Her only chance to get out of this mess was to put up an obliging façade coupled with a sexy smile and, if she played her cards right, those dumb cops would forget all about her presence in the Traitor's flat. Her sex appeal was notorious throughout the Punk/Goth/Rock underground world of DC!

Jet's first impulse was to attack and bite the posteriors of the two new intruders in blue "clo-zes" that had entered the territory uninvited: enough was enough! First "Abee", and next two male humans reeking of violence? He would show them he was determined to defend his owner's place!

But then, a third voice – female, this time – was heard near the door:

"Down, Jet!"

The dog's ears straightened in surprise as he recognized the voice: it was "Mi-ziz Begman", the old female human who lived in front of his shared territory. She was standing by the flat's entrance door with a severe frown on her face and unforgiving eyes focused on "Abee". "Teem" had taught him to be very nice towards the frail, elderly woman and Jet was a well-behaved dog. He instantly stopped his barking and sat down on the living-room's carpet, much to the relief of the two cops.

"Thanks, Ma'am!" said one of the officers sporting the nametag _"Watson"_ written on his chest. With his partner still aiming his gun at Abby, he took out a pair of handcuffs and quickly shackled the woman's hands behind her back.

"Please, oh please, Sir! Don't be rough with me, there's no need to do this!" pleaded the Lab Rat with the sweetest voice while making doe eyes to the police officer. "This is all a terrible misunderstanding…"

"Oh, really? Not from where **I** stand, Missy," said Officer Watson, shoving Abby against the nearest wall before patting her up and down for hidden weapons. "We got a call about a burglary and we've caught you _in flagrante delicto_ of trespassing in a flat belonging to NCIS Federal Agent Timothy McGee."

"I'm not trespassing! I'm a friend of McGee, the owner of this flat. And if you don't stop groping me, I'll sue you for sexual harassment!" retorted Abby, angry that her seductive act had so spectacularly fallen flat.

"Groping you? Don't flatter yourself Missy, you're hardly charming material."

"I was asked by McGee to come over to his flat and look after his dog!" shouted a red-faced Abby, furious at this insult towards her powers of seduction.

"Then how do you explain the damage on the door's lock?" asked the other police officer, whose name was Maynard. "It looks like it has been scratched by a cat with metallic claws."

"I don't know! Maybe it was the dog that has scratched it…"

Officer Maynard picked up the backpack and rummaged inside it, before looking up to Abby with a sarcastic smile on his face and Tony's set of lock-picking tools in his hand.

"Yeah, and I suppose the dog used those to scratch at the door. Who are you trying to fool, Missy? I'm ready to bet ten-to-one that we'll find your fingerprints not only on those burglar's gadgets, but also on the lock."

"Not to forget we have a witness who has saw you forcing the lock of Agent McGee's door before reporting the break-in," added Officer Watson.

"That person is lying! I've never picked a lock in my life!" shouted Abby, her eyes rimmed with tears since Jet's bites on her lower back were beginning to hurt.

"I realized that, considering it took you a good twenty minutes to open Timothy's door," said Mrs. Bergman from the hallway.

Abby turned her stunned face towards the elderly woman.

"What? You… You…"

"Yes, I did saw you burglarize Timothy's apartment, and I called the police immediately. Unluckily for you, the dog stopped you in your enterprise – then again, it was pretty stupid of you to try and rob a man who owns such a good guard dog!"

Jet whined in approval, making Officer Maynard smile.

"You stupid old witch, I wasn't robbing McGee! I'm telling you, he asked me to walk his dog. Why can't you mind your own business for a change?"

"Hey! Don't be rude towards seniors or I'll give you a free lesson in politeness," exclaimed Officer Watson, who detested disrespect.

"I'll be polite when **I** want to be!" shot Abby back. "You have arrested the wrong person and it will cost you both your badges. I have friends in high places and Gibbs will tear you from limb to limb for having dared to handcuff me."

"Whatever. In the meantime, you're under arrest for trespassing and attempted burglary. You have the right to remain silent…"

While his colleague was mirandizing Abby in spite of her loud protests, Officer Maynard called the station via the microphone's radio hooked on his shoulder to announce the capture of a burglar in a flat rented by one Timothy McGee, NCIS Federal Agent. Dispatch answered a few minutes later that the man had already been a victim of a foiled burglary attempt and the suspect could be an accomplice of Nicholas Miller, a teenager who was currently serving a four-year sentence at Juvenile Hall for having tried to rob Agent McGee. Suspect was to be taken to the station at once for interrogation, as well as the witness for an official statement before Agent McGee would be contacted to fill up a complaint.

"You can't take me to your horrid station!" shouted Abby, and Jet had to repress the urge to bite her posterior for a third time. "I'm not a burglar, I'm a forensic scientist! I work for a respectable federal agency; I've solved thousands of murder cases that you losers couldn't even dream of! I'm…"

"Shut your mouth or I'll shut it for you," warned Officer Watson.

"You're threatening me? You actually **dare** to threaten me? I'll tell Gibbs!"

"Is that supposed to scare me?"

"Yeah! You should be scared; you're as good as dead! Gibbs will kill you! He won't care that you're of the police, he'll kill you nonetheless."

"You've just added a new charge to your case, Missy: threats towards a police officer."

"**WHAT? You can't do that!"**

"I've just done it and, unless you want more charges to be added, I'd suggest you to keep a firm lid on that loudmouth of yours. Now, follow us to the station!"

"**NO! NO!"** roared Abby, kicking at everybody and everything on sight. It took five long minutes for Officers Watson and Maynard to finally immobilize her and, after another charge was added – resisting arrest – the two men got Abby out of Tim's flat. Jet tried to follow the group but was stopped dead on his tracks by the kind voice of Mrs. Bergman:

"No can do, sweetie. A police station is not a place for dogs and you have to guard Timothy's things until his return."

"MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS FOR THE LAST TIME, YOU STUPID OLD WITCH!" shouted Abby. "And don't think for a minute that your advanced age will protect you from Gibbs. He'll knock your false teeth out!"

Officer Watson was ready to give the Goth woman a piece of his mind but Mrs. Bergman stopped him with a simple wave of her hand.

"Oh, really? Is he so terrible?" casually asked the old woman.

"YEAH! And he won't take it too lightly after I'll tell him you've denounced me to the cops under a false accusation of burglary. He'll make your life a living Hell! He'll hound you 'til the ends of the Earth! You'll rue the day you've messed with me: I am protected by the best ex-Marine of the United States and he is ruthless to the ones who hurt me!"

That last statement brought a laugh from Mrs. Bergman – a sad, bitter laugh, forged by years of hardship.

"Ruthless… Yes, in my days, I've met some ruthless men. In fact, I've been confronted to the worst of humanity when I was only ten years old. My home was destroyed, I travelled in a freight car and I was forced to live the life of a cockroach: hiding in the shadows, eating rubbish, with the constant fear of being squashed on…"

As she spoke, Mrs. Bergman unbuttoned her blouse's sleeve and exposed her left forearm for Abby and the police officers to see. On her white, wrinkled skin had been tattooed a series of numbers: one-five-zero-seven-zero-three.

The Lab Rat's face turned livid at the realization of what those numbers meant; it was an identification tattoo bore by former inmates of the Auschwitz concentration camp. Mrs. Bergman was a Holocaust survivor…

"Yes, you foolish girl; I've spent four years in that hellish camp and to this day I don't know how I've managed to escape the gas chambers or the medical experiments, not to forget the infectious diseases that could have killed me in a snap. I've witnessed horrors beyond the imaginable; my parents and my little sister disappeared in a cloud of dark smoke; every day people died of starvation or forced labor, when they were not summarily executed by monsters with men's faces who laughed at our torments. I've endured the worst of humanity for four long years and only on January 27, 1945 did this nightmare ended; and you really believe I'd be frightened by that Gibbs protector of yours?"

Mrs. Bergman pulled down her sleeve and refastened the buttons as she glared at Abby through her thick lenses of her glasses: "Sorry to disappoint you, girl, but I won't be frightened – neither by you, nor Gibbs, or anybody else for that matter. This is the second time I've seen you prowling around Timothy's apartment – the first one being when you tried to force your way in and you stomped on food to leave a mess in the hallway after his refusal to grant you access. He is certainly wise to keep a lunatic such as you away from his flat! But rest assured that I will also fill a complaint against you for insults and threatening behavior."

"OH!" gasped Abby, floored by the old woman's force of will. She was a far cry from the doddering seniors she had always pictured as McGee's neighbors – after all, a wuss like Timmy could only have weaklings as people living next door to him, right?

"All right, that's quite enough from you, Missy. We're taking you to the station and for your sake, keep your mouth shut!" said Officer Maynard.

"A patrol car will come to pick you up for your statement, Ma'am," added Officer Watson to Mrs. Bergman, who nodded in approval.

"**You can't do that! I'm protected! I'm innocent! I didn't do anything wrong; I'm a good person! I go to church on Sundays, I give to charities and I bowl with the nuns of the St. John Chrysostom's convent every week. Ask them and they'll all tell you I'm a good person! This is a mistake, a horrible mistake! You can't make me go to the station as if I were a vulgar criminal! I'm not a criminal; Gibbs will confirm everything I've told you. You won't find my fingerprints on the lock-picking tools! I'm not a burglar! I…"**

The rest of Abby's plea fell on deaf ears as she was dragged out of the hallway by two exasperated police officers and hauled in the elevator. Mrs. Bergman watched the Lab Rat disappearing behind the lift's sliding door and she shook her head in sadness, since it was reminding her of the day when Nick Miller had been arrested for the same reason as the Goth woman. One could wonder why a good man like Timothy McGee was constantly targeted by clumsy, rioting and all-around imbecilic apprentice-burglars!

TBC…


	96. A clash of opinions

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- The evil eye is a curse believed to be cast by a malevolent glare, usually given to a person when they are unaware and believed to cause misfortune or injury (from Wikipedia).

_- Déjà vu_ (French, meaning _"seen before"_) is having the strong sensation that an event or experience currently being experienced has been experienced in the past, whether it has actually happened or not (from Wikipedia).

_- The Nightmare Before Christmas_ is a 1993 American stop motion musical fantasy film directed by Henry Selick and produced/co-written by Tim Burton (from Wikipedia).

- To Killswitch: the Badmiral praised the CHRIS designer as he ambitioned to be the first one to command a ship equipped with the program.

- To mininon: Abby is too stubborn to develop a phobia of dogs! xD

- To Loki: Mrs. Bergman's past explains why she is not impressed by Gibbs or Abby.

- To Jeika: you asked for a police station scene... Here it is!

- To Momcat: Tim's wound in the 'Extreme Prejudice' episode was indeed serious but once again he was dismissed by the others, especially Abby. Only Gibbs manifested concern for about 3 ½ seconds...

- To Guest: Mrs. Bergman is a tough old lady, isn't she?

- To Reddragen: I hope you will like this new chapter!

- To earthdragon: Abby has never struck me as a sane person in the first place: she's manipulative and childish, not to forget a coward who has framed Tim many times.

- To None: Jet will get a treat from Tim for having been a good watchdog!

- To Inked: Abby in the loony bin? I pity the nurses! xD

- To MarkyV: Abby will face the consequences of wrongly thinking she's invulnerable while under Gibbs' protection.

- To earthdragon: thank you for having pointed out at the mistake ;o)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 95: A clash of opinions<strong>

_At the police station…_

Leroy Jethro Gibbs was angry.

No, scratch that, he was beyond angry. He was ticked off; fuming; exasperated; incensed; wrathful; up in arms; outraged!

**How could such a thing happen? **

Had he been superstitious, Leroy Jethro Gibbs would have thought somebody had cast him the Evil Eye.

But he was not superstitious, did not believe in magical malevolence and always had a rather simple view of life, in the lines of: _"Do what I tell you, don't argue with me and don't waste my time if you want to remain alive"_.

He had taught his adopted 'kids' this philosophy over the years by using glares, head-slaps and sometimes dressing-downs to emphasize a point – all this for their own good, of course, since they had faults in need of correcting to become the best Federal Agents the world had ever seen. Tony's motor-mouth had to be reined in to keep everyone's sanity intact; Ziva's aggressiveness was not acceptable in a peaceful workplace; McGee's shyness could become a major hindrance during the investigation of murder cases. So Gibbs had taken to heart to 'cure' his subordinates of their major shortcomings so they would become perfect Federal Agents, the cream of the crop, and he would have retired happily knowing he had left a memorable legacy behind him – a living, breathing legacy carrying on his teachings for years to come, turning the usually-overlooked NCIS into an agency rivaling in prestige with the FBI, the DEA or any other alphabet soup government organizations.

But he had been so focused on Tony, Ziva and Tim that he had forgotten to teach Abby the rudiments of his philosophy, and the consequences were going to be quite dreadful.

**How could such a thing happen? **

He was sitting on a hard chair in a hallway at the Rhode Island Avenue police station and this simple fact gave him a bitter _déjà-vu_ taste in the month; it was the same place where he had bailed Abby out from her attempted snatching of the canine Jethro from Andrew Somerset, months ago. She had gotten a Citation Release for her actions and Vance had sanctioned her by adding extra weeks to her suspension, plus the obligation at attend Dog Attack classes so she could see by herself what really happened when people were mauled by the dogs she cherished so much. Gibbs had really hoped attending those classes and getting a Cite Out on her record would make Abby understand she had gone too far in her _'defending-Jethro-even-when-unnecessary'_ attitude and she would finally leave the German shepherd alone. But his illusions had been smashed to smithereens by a simple phone call he had received two hours ago!

**How could such a thing happen? **

The silver-haired man sighed as he rubbed his face between his hands, in a vain effort to chase away the tiredness but, above everything, the disappointment he was feeling. The day had started normally: he had come to the office at the usual hour, followed by Tony and Ziva. The two younger Agents had started working on cold cases at once while Gibbs had been focused on a different document all morning: his letter of resignation.

He was convinced it was the right thing to do; without his influence, Tony would finally become a good Federal Agent with the notions of teamwork and solidarity between colleagues firmly implanted inside his head, stopping him from acting like an attention-seeking juvenile jerk. The Senior Agent had reached middle-age (even if he denied it in public) so it was high time to behave like an adult and work hard in order to salvage his career. Gibbs would recommend Vance to assign a new, no-nonsense supervisor with zero tolerance towards bullying to Tony so the younger man would amend his ways and regain his status of Senior _Field_ Agent in the near future. Tony's dream of leading his own team could even become a reality, provided he kept his head low and his mouth shut! Of course, DiNozzo would take it hard to see his mentor leave, but it would be nothing compared to his reaction after learning about McGee and Ziva.

Gibbs had glanced at the lovely ex-Mossad officer working at her desk and he had to admit, she knew how to school her features to the perfection. Nothing in Ziva's behavior betrayed her feelings but Gibbs had nonetheless found out she was in a relationship with Tim.

_The looks she had exchanged with McGee in the bullpen… _

_Both of them leaving Jimmy's wedding at the same time… _

_The smile on Ziva's face on Monday morning… _

It had been the smile of a woman in love; Gibbs had seen it flourish on Shannon's lips more times than he could count.

The memory of his beloved wife had stabbed him in the heart with the sharpness of a blade, like the dark one Tim had used against DiNozzo's office chair but, at the same time, knowing about Tim and Ziva's relationship had gladdened him. Tim finding love would help him in healing from the terrible loss he had sustained after Gibbs had the idea to phone Burt Butler. His youngest son could also consider a future with a home filled with children instead of being haunted by his dead love for the rest of his life, at the image of his soon-to-be ex-Boss. Gibbs was not petty enough to think Ziva's affection would 'erase' the souvenir of Tim's lady-friend killed in Afghanistan, and thus absolving him for his stupid initiative_. _Goodness knew, Tim was not shallow; when he gave his heart, it was for life - even if he would get knocked back for his troubles – and Ziva was lucky to have found a good, honest man to build a future together.

After having deduced the love between Tim and Ziva, Gibbs had then vowed to protect them both from Tony's and Abby's jealousy, even if it would mean having to head-slap the Senior Agent until he would see stars under the noonday sun. So far, Tony had not noticed the changes in Ziva's behavior but it would not last: as insufferable as DiNozzo could be at times, he had the skills of a good investigator so he would find out about the relationship and Gibbs had not forgotten the destruction of the morgue by an angry ex-Mossad officer. As for Abby, she certainly would not take it lightly the news about her doormat finding happiness with another woman and a scandal was the last thing Team Gibbs needed.

So the silver-haired man had been busy all morning making plans to protect the future of his 'kids': he would shield the lovebirds until their departure for greener pastures; he would provide Tony with a reliable new mentor before resigning from NCIS; he would talk to Abby and make her see the light… but it has all been for nothing.

**How could such a thing happen? **

That call... Abby's voice yelling _"GIBBS! GIBBS! GIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIBBS!"_ on the phone, over and over again like a broken record until she had found five minutes of intelligence to tell him where she was and what had happened. And then, his mad dash to the garage, barely giving Tony and Ziva a glimpse of the latest Abby-drama before heading for the police station like a man possessed, cursing abundantly all the way against harebrained ideas and those who refused to behave like adults.

"Agent Gibbs?" asked a woman's voice.

The ex-Marine looked up and saw a granite-faced police officer standing in front of him; Gibbs had been so lost in his thoughts he had not heard the woman coming, another sign he was overdue for retirement, provided Vance would not throw him in jail in the first place for having leaked information about McGee to a turncoat mercenary.

"Yeah?"

"You're here for an Abigail Sciuto, right?" asked the woman, whose nametag was _"Klansky"_.

"That's right. Can I see her?"

"Yes, the fingerprints and the photos have been taken and now she's waiting for her attorney in Interrogation Room no. 3. Are you two related somehow?"

"I'm her Boss from the NCIS Federal Agency."

"Oh yeah, she mentioned many times during the booking procedure that she was working for you fed folks," said Officer Klansky. "One of our colleagues took it on him to call the Director of NCIS to warn him about Miss Sciuto's arrest – apparently she had already been in trouble with the law in the past, something about a foiled robbery at Langdon Park."

Gibbs inwardly made a grimace; Vance receiving a phone call from the MPD could only spell big trouble for the Lab Rat. Apparently, Abby had not thought it judicious to remain silent during her arrest, and her loud proclamations about being employed by NCIS must have ringed a bell inside some of the policemen's mind... in fact, Gibbs was ready to bet the officer who had called Vance was Eicher, the one who had arrested Abby at Langdon Park and who later had shown open disgust about her benefiting from a Citation Release.

"Vance is on his way to the station, then?" asked the ex-Marine.

"Yeah and according to my colleague, he is none too happy about your employee! I have to admit, I would never have pictured Federal Agents breaking and entering the flats of their co-workers to steal their belongings."

"Abby is charged with thievery, then?" asked Gibbs, not wanting to go into details and reveal Tony enjoyed playing amateur burglar at McGee's expenses.

"Oh, yes! Breaking and entering, trespassing, attempted robbery, resisting arrest, threats against the officers who have arrested her and threats against the old neighbor who has called the police: it makes quite a set of charges! Of course Miss Sciuto denies any wrongdoing but the lock of her victim's front door was forced, a guard dog raised the alarm and kept her at bay after she went inside the premises and my colleagues found a set of lock-picking tools in her backpack. All this smacks of a burglary going south from overconfidence in picking locks and by the vigilance of a dog."

Gibbs thought Abby would be devastated from having being growled and barked at by Jethro, the German shepherd she had made her lifelong battle to protect at all costs, until the police would show up and slap the cuffs on her. No doubts she would feel betrayed by the dog but then again, Jet had made it clear he did not want to have anything to do with her, especially after he had shunned her at Langdon Park!

Officer Klansky escorted Gibbs to Interview Room no. 3 and opened the door: Abby was indeed seated on the edge of a chair, next to a table. She was looking twenty years older: she had been crying and her mascara has run down, leaving black tracks on her cheeks that made her look like a demented raccoon; her pigtails were disheveled from having fought off the police officers during the processing and her clothes were maculated with dirt. As soon as she saw the ex-Marine, Abby jumped on her feet and shrieked out in joy:

"**GIBBS! You're here, you're finally here!"**

"Calm down, Abby."

"**Gibbs you're come to get me out of here, aren't you? Please get me out, this place is horrible! I'm innocent! Those blockheads have arrested the wrong person and I've been processed as if I were some kind of low-life criminal! Look, I have ink all over my fingers! I'm not a criminal, I'm a good person! I'm innocent! I never tried to burglarize McGee's flat! They..."**

"**Abby, calm down and shut up!"** roared the silver-haired man in return. **"I've already heard your pitiful ranting and raving over the phone when you called me earlier and I've had enough!"**

A stunned Abby remained silent for a few seconds, leaving Gibbs the time to sit on the other chair, across the table. Officer Klansky shut the door and stood guard next to it, in case Abby would get the funny idea to try and make a break off the station.

"What do you mean, my pitiful ranting and raving? It's the truth! I'm innocent and I can prove it!" exclaimed the Goth woman, getting worried by the second from her silver-haired fox's attitude.

"Oh, really? Then how do you explain your presence at McGee's flat in his absence, with his dog growling at you and lock-picking tools in your backpack?"

"I'll tell you everything once _she_ will be gone," answered Abby with a dismissive gesture towards Officer Klansky. "She doesn't have to stay here and listen to our conversation; she's nothing but a bother and a nuisance!"

"Excuse me? It is standard procedure for a female police officer to guard a female suspect until her attorney arrives," shot Officer Klansky back, floored by Abby's nerve.

"**Get lost! Can't you see we're talking?"** shouted Abby.

"Abby, if you keep on going like this, I'll leave this station and you will sort the matter out with Vance on your own – and I'm not joking!" said Gibbs.

The mere mention of the NCIS' Director made Abby pale under her ruined mascara; she staggered and accidentally bumped her bottom against the table, making Gibbs notice her wince of pain.

"V-Vance? He's coming?"

"Yeah and according to Officer Klansky here, he's not happy. So how about talking to me before he arrives?"

Abby started to tremble and her lower lip quivered, a tell-tale sign of imminent waterworks but Gibbs' blue eyes remained fixed on the Goth woman, a silent warning he would not fall for his favorite's usual tactics this time. The matter was too important: Abby had been caught red-handed in a burglary attempt at McGee's flat and Director Vance's reaction would be thermonuclear, to say the least!

The Lab Rat gingerly sat down back on her chair and let her head rest between her hands, in an attempt to shield her face from Officer Klansky. The police woman's presence was unnerving and Gibbs obviously had no intention to tell her to go away, something Abby could not understand. His glares worked to the perfection on the Autopsy Gremlin!

"Gibbs, I swear to you, I didn't do anything wrong... I was just trying to help Jethro."

"Jethro, again!" growled the ex-Marine. "You still haven't learned a thing from your latest exploits with this dog, have you?"

"Gibbs..."

"You were told time and time again to drop that stupid Human Society Drama Queen act. The judge has fined you during the Cite Out hearing – a fine I had to pay, since you were broke once again – and he has told you in no uncertain terms to stay away from this dog. Vance punished you for having meddled with McGee's pet at Langdon Park. I told you to leave Tim alone, and it included his dog. What in the world is the matter with you? Can't you follow the simplest orders?"

"But, Gibbs..."

"And now, you've burglarized McGee's flat! Don't you know breaking and entering is a felony punishable by law?"

"I do, Gibbs! But it was necessary; I went to see McGee a few weeks ago..."

"You WHAT? Vance has forbidden the whole team to have any contact with McGee, and it included you!"

"Oh, to Hell with Vance's orders! That uptight bureaucrat doesn't know a thing about what is really going on. The thing is, I went to McGee's because I had to make sure Jethro was okay. He had to stay at that creep Somerset's place for months and I wanted to see if he had been traumatized by this experience."

"Traumatized?! This dog is in perfect health!" protested the Team Leader.

"We only have McGee's word for it and he has not proved to be a very reliable person those days," shot Abby back. "I wanted to see how Jethro was faring but McGee flatly refused to grant me access to his flat, blocking the front door with this great big bulk of his. Now that he has finally built a bit of muscle, he thinks he can give me orders! Even worse, he told me Jethro wasn't home and it raised my suspicions."

"What suspicions?"

Abby leaned over, and whispered for only Gibbs to hear:

"I am certain McGee is mistreating Jethro and that's the reason why he prevented me from seeing him."

Gibbs' eyes nearly popped out of their sockets from stupefaction after hearing such a mind-blowing statement: "What? Tim, mistreating his dog? Of all the stupid ideas..."

"It's not stupid! I'm not stupid!" said Abby as she raised her voice in outrage, startling Officer Klansky. "I'm the best Forensic scientist of NCIS! I've helped you in solving thousands of cases; I've worked day and night to give you the clues you needed; I've braved perpetrators without batting an eyelid and I even managed to subdue the horrible Chip who had planned to kill me right under your nose; without me, you'd be nothing and you certainly wouldn't have the best crime-solving rate of the agency!"

"Then why don't you start using those powerful scientific brains you constantly brag about to understand the mess you're in? How about using the intelligence you think to possess to finally realize what you have done?" asked Gibbs, who was beginning to see red.

"Gibbs! This is uncalled for. Jethro is in danger and I had to act, even at the risk of breaking the law. You've done the same thing many times in the past, cutting corners to gain proofs so why are you criticizing me all of a sudden?"

"That's not the point!" said a fuming Team Leader. "We were chasing criminals, drug dealers and human traffickers – even terrorists, for God's sakes! Innocent lives were at risk and we couldn't waste time asking for warrants and whatnots so we could catch the culprits before they could strike or flee the country. So yeah, I may have been a bit loose with rules and regulations while investigating murder cases but it was never a license for you to burglarize McGee's flat."

"You had no objections when Tony did it!" protested Abby. "He and Ziva played 'home invasion' at McGee's many times and you never punished them."

"Who said I didn't? For your information, I head-slapped them good and hard as soon as I've heard about their burglarizing game through the agency's grapevine, since McGee is too loyal for his own good and he wouldn't rat on anyone, including his inconsiderate colleagues."

The piece of news shocked Abby to the core: "B-But Tony and Ziva never told me..."

"DiNozzo and David would hardly brag about being head-slapped from lacking of the basic notions of privacy! But I deliberately didn't tell McGee about this – he was still green at the time and I stupidly thought he had to endure some extra hazing to gain enough self-confidence and make a stand against Tony, Ziva, and even you. As a result, he wrongly assumed I didn't give a damn about him and he left for that accursed mission in Afghanistan without a backward glance."

Abby started to bite her fingernails out of increasing nervousness. Her first attempt at justifying her trespassing scheme had spectacularly failed: she had thought referring to Gibbs' previous transgressions of the law and Tony's burglary games would somehow lessen the severity of her own actions, but so far her silver-haired fox had not relented.

"Now, will you kindly tell me what proofs you have about Tim mistreating his pet – the clues that prompted you to damage the lock of his front door?"

"I... I don't have tangible proofs, merely suspicions," admitted the Lab Rat. "But I think I know how McGee has managed to brainwash Jethro, so he'd be afraid of me!"

"That brainwashing story again? I've already told you it was nothing but gobbledygook, Abby. Have you gone deaf all of a sudden?"

"No, I didn't! But there is some brainwashing involved and I'm ready to bet it is linked to the computer thingie McGee is so proud of."

Gibbs' heart missed a beat; Abby was referring to Tim's special project, the ultra-secret computer program he had elaborated while in Afghanistan and she was talking about it right in the middle of a police station, regardless of the fact she was supposed to follow orders of discretion at all times. She had been a NCIS employee for years and she knew better than to spread information about their work in public places. Tim's security had already been compromised in the past, thanks to a certain phone call to Butler and he had barely survived kidnapping and torture. The consequences of another security breach could be terrible for the kid and Gibbs would be damned before he would let his youngest son's life been endangered again, not even by Abby.

Gibbs glanced at Klansky, who was discreetly rolling her eyes heavenwards; apparently, the police woman did not believe a word about the supposed brainwashing and considered Abby's revelations as the ramblings of a drug addict suspect trying to find a way out – she had seen many weirdos in her time as a law enforcement officer so nothing could surprise her anymore. But Abby's loose tongue had to be 'neutralized' immediately; not only she endangered Tim but she could also face very serious prison time, even be accused of treason. Vance would hit the roof learning the Goth woman was trying to save her skin by mentioning McGee and his work!

Desperate times called for desperate measures: the ex-Marine man gave Abby his best iceberg glare, and then he said in an implacable tone:

"You're **wrong**."

Abby felt the air rushing out from her lungs, as if someone had just punched her in the stomach. Never, ever anyone had dared to tell her she was wrong before, and the first one to say it had been her silver-haired fox, her champion and protector!

"What? What did you say?"

"Just what I've said: you're **wrong**."

"But how can you say such a thing? To me, of all people!" exclaimed a tearful Lab Rat.

"I can say it because I've seen McGee's computer thingie with my own eyes," said Gibbs, lying through his teeth to his favorite for the first time.

"WHAT? But why didn't you say anything?"

"Good grief, Abby! You're incapable to keep your mouth shut for one minute, and you really think I'd share this information with you? Besides, it was none of your business in the first place but let me assure you McGee's thingie is completely harmless. It couldn't influence a fly on the wall."

"Then how do you explain Jethro has become afraid of me?"

"Simply because he cannot stand the sight of you, and I cannot blame the beast!" barked Gibbs. "You've been behaving like a lunatic lately, Abby – trying to pin your wrongdoings on McGee whenever you have the chance, causing scandals at our workplace and taking absurd initiatives such as trying to grab Jethro at Langdon Park or at Tim's flat. This dog refuses to have anything to do with you and yet you still live in this fantasy world where you rescue him from imaginary dragons and perils that never existed in the first place. **When are you going to face reality?**"

Abby started to sulk, causing Gibbs to bark out in anger: "And cut out the comedy act! If only you knew how ridiculous you look when you pout like a five-year-old..."

"I'M NOT RIDICULOUS!"

Officer Klansky repressed the urge to snort in derision.

"And you ought to think about what you're going to tell the judge, after you'll be dragged to the courthouse for breaking and entering, trespassing, resisting arrest and threatening the cops and Tim's neighbor."

"I'm not the Queen of Forensic Sciences for nothing, Gibbs," replied Abby with a snide smile. "I didn't leave any DNA traces at McGee's flat; his nosey neighbor is a doddering old witch with glasses' lenses as thick as the bottom of a bottle, hardly a reliable witness; and I was wearing gloves the whole time, so those dumb cops don't have a chance in proving I used lock-picking tools."

"Where did you get those tools in the first place?" growled the ex-Marine, not liking the way this conversation was going.

"I took them from Tony's drawer, so the cops will find _**his**_ prints on the hooks, not mine's."

It was Gibbs' turn to pale. Tony and Tim had both been arrested for trespassing in a junk yard while investigating a murder case, years ago. The young men had been cleared of all charges afterwards but their fingerprints had been recorded, and doubtless cops would be puzzled about finding the prints of NCIS Federal Agent Anthony DiNozzo Jr. in an attempted burglary of his colleague's flat.

"Do you realize Tony could get into trouble because of you?"

"More the reason to get me out of here, Gibbs," shot the Goth woman back. "You don't want Tony to answer some embarrassing questions about him having lock-picking tools in his possession, now, do you? So stop that growling nonsense and use of your influence to persuade the cops to drop the charges against me so I can be home on time to watch _The nightmare before Christmas_ on TV."

"I can't believe it... I just can't believe it! You actually think I'd help you just to keep Tony out of your mess!"

"Whatever it takes," replied Abby, shrugging her shoulders in indifference. "I'm innocent; I was just misled and it's not a crime; I don't belong here; I don't have to stay in this stinking, ugly and cockroach-infested police station filled with half-brained cops and losers – and if you were the real Gibbs, the ex-Marine I came to love like my father, you'd have gotten me out of here hours ago but you had to go all mushy on McGee and his boo boos, so being a little tough is in order to bring you back to your senses. Tony should have known better than to keep lock-picking tools in an unlocked drawer, anyway; he thinks no one would dare nicking the things of Very Special Agent DiNozzo but I've showed him wrong. Besides, somebody has to put him down a few notches, just like McGee and the others; they have been horrible to me those past few months and I'll show them that no one messes with me!"

Gibbs stoical demeanor never faltered but inside, he was crumbling like a house of cards. He had protected Abby for years; he had scared the living daylights of anyone who dared to criticize her; he had made excuses for her special elegance, the blaring music at the lab, the suffocating displays of affection and her blatant disregard of orders – like with Mawher, when she had 'forgotten' safety instructions to open the door to the killer, or in Mexico, where her whines and whims could have provoked the mass murdering of innocent students. Every time Gibbs had turned a blind eye and a deaf ear to Abby's lies, her manipulations, her tendency to pin the blame of her actions on others simply because she had the Team Leader wrapped around her little finger and it had made her formidable.

**How could such a thing happen? **

"_You already know the answer to that question, Gibbs,"_ sighed the voice of reason inside the silver-haired man's mind. _"You let Abby replace Kelly in your heart, and you are now facing the consequences of having let a delusional woman becoming your favorite."_

Gosh, he should have head-slapped Abby instead of providing her with endless supplies of _Caf-Pow_ drinks!

"_As if you would have, you old fool!" _laughed the voice of cynicism back_. "You melt like ice cream under the sun as soon as she bats her eyelids at you. You can't even see what's right under your nose. Some investigator you are!"_

"So, are you getting me out of here soon?"

"No."

"What did you say?"

"I said, NO. I'm growing tired of pulling your ass out of the fire and since I'm obviously powerless to save you from your stupidity, then I'm throwing in the towel: **you're on your own**, and for the rest of your life. No more rescue from the cops, no more money loans and it's useless to cry your eyes out, as I won't change my mind."

"But you can't abandon me here!"

Gibbs raised his hands in defeat and got on his feet; he nodded to Officer Klansky, who reached out for the doorknob but a shrilling cry from Abby stopped them both dead on their tracks:

"**GIBBS!** If you leave me here, I'll never forgive you!"

"I don't care."

"You don't care? You'd let me become a victim of this bunch of losers and their false accusations against me?"

"Right now, you could be eaten up by zombies and I still wouldn't give a damn about it."

Abby's face turned purple in anger: "YOU CAN'T LEAVE ME HERE! YOU CAN'T TURN YOUR BACK ON ME, AFTER ALL I'VE DONE FOR YOU AND THE TEAM!"

"Oh, do shut up. I'm getting sick and tired of hearing you singing your own praises. Tim was right when he said you are only interested in your pierced navel!"

"That double-crosser has no right to criticize me! He has disobeyed your rules so he's far from being the little angel he pretends to be."

"Tim, disobeying? That would be the day!" snorted Gibbs in derision.

"I can prove it! I've seen it with my own eyes!"

"Just like you've seen Tim mistreating Jethro?" asked a sarcastic Team Leader.

"Don't mock! I'm telling you, I've seen McGee breaking one of your rules and, at the same time, he disobeyed Vance's instructions to avoid contact with his teammates."

"What in the world do you mean?"

"You want to know? Then get me out of her and maybe I'll tell you."

"Don't play those games with me, Abby! You tell me now and _that's an order_."

"You can't give me orders, Gibbs. You're not my immediate superior!"

At the same moment, the door of Interrogation Room no. 3 opened wide and in came a very angry man.

"No, but **I** am!" said NCIS Director Leon Vance.

TBC...


	97. A clash of opinions 2

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- An erupting Vance in this chapter… Please faster your armor before reading!

- Dissociative identity disorder (DID), previously known as multiple personality disorder (MPD), is a mental disorder characterized by at least two distinct and relatively enduring identities or dissociated personality states that alternately control a person's behavior. This mental condition is not to be mistaken with schizophrenia (from Wikipedia).

- Details about German shepherd dogs come from Wikipedia.

- To Talos: Abby would feed dogs chocolate because it would please her first and foremost, regardless it would make the animals sick.

- To Pearl: do I get irritated from getting lots of reviews? Certainly not! ;o)

- To Napolean: I am amazed every week by the amount of reviews! I never thought this story would please so many readers.

- To McCloud: Tim is not likely to write a 'Deep Six' book about his secret mission in Afghanistan, but he will probably write one about his adventures in LA.

- To Vicki: hopefully you'll like this new chapter, too!

- To Mininon: the chapters you're looking for are no. 17 and 18.

- To Sam: frankly, I don't think Abby will ever see the errors of her ways. Being spoiled for years doesn't develop character!

- To Ares: after Abby, the next one to get a major dressing down will be Tony.

- To Killswitch: Abby is grasping at straws to get out of the mess she created, but she's doomed to fail.

- To Momcat: I quite agree with you. I never thought Tim being punished for Abby's disobediences was a funny gag – in fact, it gave a deplorable example to young viewers, in the lines of: _"When disobeying orders, frame a nice guy so he won't rat you out."_

- To Jeika: Tony won't get in trouble for the lock-picking tools but he certainly won't be happy learning Ziva and Tim had become a couple.

- To cree: I hope you had a great Thanksgiving!

- To Forfargirl21: Tim and Gibbs will definitively have a talk before he leaves for LA.

- To RedDragen: Gibbs saying "no" has been quite a surprise, hasn't it? XD

- To Guest: cameras in the bullpen will certainly show Abby stealing the lock-picking tools from Tony's desk drawer, but she managed to avoid the CCTVs at Tim's place.

- To earthdragon: you are right, Gibbs may not be Abby's boss but he is certainly to blame for having babying her for years, without even realizing she was manipulating him into getting a protector so she would do as she pleased.

- To Guest: I hope your inner dragon will like this chapter as well!

- To lovec1990: thank you for your kind words. Sorry about not posting more often but RL keeps me busy.

- To Guest: Abby's explanations will be very confused and her attempts of blackmailing Gibbs and Vance will misfire quite spectacularly!

- To None: Volcano Vance is about to explode. Be afraid, be very afraid…

- To Sandy: thank you for your review!

- To MarkV: Abby is very smart inside a lab and a complete idiot outside the lab.

- To Gracieironic: feeding your mother's dog bits of Abby-jerky could be poisonous to the poor beast! XD

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 96: A clash of opinions 2<strong>

_At the police station…_

Abby Sciuto started to tremble; Director Vance had come to the police station way earlier than expected and she did not have enough time to convince Gibbs to come to her aid. In fact, the Team Leader had remained furious and her usual tactics – tears, panicked looks, attempts for hugging, accusations towards McGee – had failed one after another, prompting Abby to resort to the big guns. As she had feared, manipulating Gibbs would not be as easy as before (in fact, the silver-haired man seemed to have developed a resistance streak against her whines since his return from his unauthorized trip to Afghanistan) but Abby was not the smartest person of NCIS for nothing: she had a few trump cards up in her sleeve and she would play them if needed to get out of the mess she was in, thanks to McGee's nosey-parker neighbor and a confused Jethro.

Abby had borrowed Tony's lock-picking tools simply because the set had been left in broad daylight, lying around in a mess cluttering the open top drawer of the Senior Agent's desk; it felt as if Tony had left the tools with a sign saying _"Please use for your next burglary! It's free of charges!"_ She had initially planned to use the hooks to break in McGee's flat and once she would have taken away Jethro and ruined the traitor's belongings, she would have put the set back in the drawer without Tony been the wiser – the big oaf would not even notice an elephant in a China shop, anyway. But after things had gone downhill, a furious Gibbs had told her that she should think about her upcoming court appearance and the very idea of going back to the courthouse scared the living daylights out of Abby. She had then played one of her ace cards by insinuating _**Tony**_ could be in trouble after _**his**_ fingerprints would be found in the lock-picking tools while _**she**_, being the intelligent girl she was, had been wearing _**gloves**_ the whole time.

Gibbs' initial reaction had been just what she had expected: the Team Leader had been horrified at the thought his adored adopted son could be asked embarrassing questions by the police about his fingerprints being on a burglary set – tools which were not supposed to be in the possession of a Federal Agent in the first place. Abby had remembered Tim's complains about the _"Let's break into McGeek's flat"_ game Tony used to play with Ziva, years ago. She had laughed heartily at the thought of McGee being unable to stop Tony and Ziva from invading his personal space and having to watch helplessly as his colleagues would mock out loud his books, video games, music, technology gadgets, in short Tim's pride and joy – at the time, the Lab Rat had thought it a marvelous prank. Of course, if Tony and Ziva had broken into Abby's lair to mock her love for Goth culture, there would have been Hell to pay!

However, the inconsiderate game of home-invading under the guise of a practical joke had ended from one day to the next and Abby had suspected a head-slap correcting Tony – a suspicion that had been confirmed earlier by Gibbs himself. Tony had then used the lock-picking tools only on doors of suspects' homes, until Vance had reminded the Senior Field Agent that even he was to obey the law and wait for a warrant before entering a private property. Any proof obtained from an illegal entry would be invalidated by a judge and destroy any chance to bring murderers to justice, as stated in police procedures' 101! Angry from having been told off like a rookie, Tony had carelessly flung the set of hooks in his drawer and had not given a second thought about it – he was Gibbs' protégé and he could have stocked a few sticks of dynamite in his drawer without anyone daring to say something about it. However, being the negligent fool he was, Tony had overlooked a major detail: he had forgotten to sweep his prints from the lock-picking set…

Abby had kept this detail in mind without knowing why but after Gibbs had manifested his reprobation at her latest exploits, she had used it to incite her silver-haired fox to double his efforts in getting her out of the police station (she was so clever). Of course this bordering-blackmail move had been dangerous, since Gibbs did not take it lightly whenever his son and heir was threatened but desperate times called for desperate measures and the ex-Marine needed to be reminded that Abby was, above everything, an expert in Forensic sciences who could falsify proofs in a snap. But for some reason, her ace card had not brought out the expected results: not only had Gibbs refused to be intimidated but he had also made it clear that he would not help her anymore.

Panicked at the thought of losing her champion, Abby had then decided to play her second trump card: the breaking of Rule no. 12 by McGee and Ziva, with the added bonus of having disobeyed Vance's orders. She had then insinuated to know something about _"Superstar Tim"_ and she would not have given the information until she would have been cleared of all blame. It could have worked, too: Gibbs was unnaturally concerned for McGee those days and he was too much of a control freak to let a piece of news from slipping through his fingers, so he would have no other choice than to relent and get her a 'stay-out-of-jail' card. Abby would have then gone home with a consolation prize: she may have failed to retrieve Jethro but at least, she would have told Gibbs about McGee and Ziva fooling around in the dark and right under his nose!

But Vance had to barge in, and make things more complicated for Abby – why that pen-pusher could not have stayed in his office?

One glimpse at her superior caused Abby's trembles to increase. The NCIS Director looked positively furious and the Goth woman knew there was no room for mistakes: she could still be released from the police station but only under the condition she would succeed in transferring Vance's wrath from over her head to McGee's and, by ricochet, to Ziva's. It was a hard game but Abby had the utmost confidence in her intelligence; she had managed to get off scot-free many times in the past (mainly by letting McGee get the blame for her disobediences) so there were no reasons why her good luck should meet an abrupt end.

Abby gulped down her nervousness, wishing for a large _"Caf-Pow" _but the harpy disguised as a police woman (Officer Klutzky, or whatever her name was) had made it clear during booking that this kind of drinks was not provided inside the station; she then plastered a fake charming smile on her lips and said:

"Hi, Leon."

Vance's eyes turned as hard as obsidian stones!

"I am not one of your pals, Miss Sciuto; I'm your **superior** and when you address me, you say _"Director Vance"_ or _"Sir"_ like any civilized person would do without having to be reminded of the basic notions of politeness!"

Abby had a start; she had thought Vance would give her a chance to explain herself before bellowing but, judging from his tone, it was clear the Director was not interested in her usual batch of excuses/pretexts/tall stories to justify her latest stunts. Gibbs, from his part, noticed that Vance was wearing a very nice suit; his shoes had been polished and his shirt was immaculate. Even though Leon was a stickler about office dress code, it was not the usual outfit he wore for work; it looked more like he had dressed up to attend a special event like a commemoration, or a ceremony…

"Please, Sir…"

"Miss Sciuto, I was on my way to leave the White House after having attended an important ceremony when I got the most unusual phone call I expected to receive from the Metropolitan Police Department. According to the officer I spoke to, an employee of my agency had been caught red-handed while burglarizing in one of my agents' flat – to be precise, in Agent Timothy McGee's flat. The officer told me you have been arrested with lock-picking tools in your possession and only the timely intervention of Agent McGee's dog stopped your thievery, plus an elderly neighbor who witnessed you forcing the front door's lock and subsequently called the police. Now, would you kindly give me a reason for you to burglarize Agent McGee's home, provided you can ever find a valuable one?"

Abby glanced at Gibbs in the hopes he would defend her but the silver-haired man remained impassible. He really looked as if he was determined to leave her out in the cold and the Lab Rat's fear slowly turned into anger. Gibbs had no rights to abandon her. She was his favorite! He had told her many times she was his favorite! And favorites were not dumped by their protectors, were they?

"Well, Sir, it was… I-I mean, it was like this…. I… Well, I… What I want to say is… You have to… It isn't what… I… I…"

"This is hardly a convincing statement," said a fuming Vance and Abby's ire rose when she saw Officer Klansky hiding a smile behind her hand.

"I'm going to give you my reasons, Sir. There's no need to rush me!" protested the Lab Rat.

"Do you want to add "insolence" to your list of misdeeds, Miss Sciuto?" asked an increasingly-angry Director, prompting Abby to make a 180-turn change in attitude. She hated apologizing and the fact her surrogate father considered it as a sign of weakness had saved her from tight spots in the past, but this time she was dealing with a wrathful Vance so a change of strategy was in order if she wanted to achieve her goals, namely being released from custody.

Swallowing her pride with a lot of difficulty, the Goth woman said with a contrite voice: "I'm s-sorry, Sir; I didn't mean what I've said. I-I was just upset and frightened by the rough treatment I've just received at the hands of those horrible persons who call themselves police officers – they are a disgrace to their uniforms and I intend to press charges against them for physical brutality, psychological abuse, extortion of confession and lack of medical care."

"Excuse me?" asked a stunned Officer Klansky. "My colleagues did nothing but bring the suspect for the usual booking and processing after having arrested her for a burglary attempt. They did not force her to confess to anything, since she was caught in _flagrante delicto_ at her victim's place. And to my knowledge, she never asked for medical care!"

"Why do you need a doctor, Abby?" asked Gibbs, his old protective reflexes kicking in as he remembered the Goth woman wincing in pain once or twice during their tedious conversation. There was a possibility that the police officers had been too rough and he could not bear the idea of one of his 'kids' being injured, regardless of how angry he was at one of them at the moment.

"Oh, are you concerned about _**me**_, now?" replied a vindictive Lab Rat.

"Abby!" thundered the ex-Marine.

"Yeah, all right! I got injured! Happy, now?"

"I'll find a medical attendant," said Officer Klansky.

"NO!" screamed Abby. "I don't want anyone from this stinking police station to look at my wounds."

"Why not?"

"That's none of your business, Officer "Buttinsky"."

"If you've been injured, it is my duty to provide you with medical help before asking for Officers Maynard and Watson's testimonies and filling up a report," protested the policewoman. "But I happen to know those men and they're not the type to use unnecessary force during an arrest, especially towards women."

"I've never said those dumbbells were responsible for my injuries, fool. Don't try to put words in my mouth!"

"Then, who?" asked Gibbs.

Abby's face reddened in rage before whispering between gritted teeth: "Jethro. He bit me."

The ex-Marine remained stunned for a moment, unable to decide whether to laugh or cry. Jethro, the dog Abby was overly found of, had bitten her while defending his owner's home? Well, it was bound to happen – German shepherds were known for their high intelligence, trainability, obedience and over-protectiveness of family and territory, making them excellent guard dogs… not to forget they had one of the strongest bites in the canine world.

"Well, you still need to see someone. Dogs' bites are not to be treated lightly, even if we showed nothing but indifference after Tim had been attacked by this dog – making us the worst teammates in the history of NCIS."

"I don't want a medical attendant to examine me!"

"Why not?"

"Because Jethro bit me on the butt! And I don't want anyone from this horrible cop station to… to treat… to see my… _I don't want to, and that's final!_"

Gibbs let out a heavy sigh and resisted the urge to rip a few white strands off his head. His paternal instincts screamed at him to get some help for Abby but at the same time he could understand the humiliation she was feeling: been bitten in that particular place (without any sexual context) was not something he wished on anyone, not even on Kort.

"So, do I get the medical attendant or not?" asked Officer Klansky. "The suspect has the right to refuse treatment but I don't wanna be accused of failure to assist a person in danger by an attorney who wants to press charges against the police forces."

"Please don't worry, Officer," replied Vance. "Miss Sciuto has better let the matter drop if she has enough brain cells left inside her skull to know what's good for her."

"Let the matter drop? No way!" exclaimed Abby. "Those no-good cops have brutalized me and I have every intention to drag their sorry asses in court to teach them that no one messes with me."

"Abby! Why don't you realize the trouble you're in?" barked Gibbs. "Do you really think pressing charges against police officers will help you in any way to avoid the courtroom for having trespassing in McGee's flat?"

"THEY HAD NO RIGHT TO TOUCH ME!" yelled Abby at the top of her lungs. "THEY DIDN'T HAVE THE RIGHT TO SLAP THE CUFFS ON ME! NO ONE LAYS A HAND ON ME! NO ONE INSULTS ME!"

"All right, that's quite enough! Cut out that outraged queen of royal blood act and stop trying to confuse the issue, it won't work. My patience is wearing extremely thin and you have exactly five seconds left to justify your presence at McGee's place before I walk out of this police station without a backward glance."

"I'm going to tell you, Sir; I really do! But please, can you get rid of that woman in the corner? I have things to tell about her colleagues and I don't want her snooping around."

"No can do. Four seconds, Miss Sciuto."

"Gibbs, can you make her leave?"

"Leave Officer Klansky alone and answer Vance at once!" shouted the ex-Marine.

"But…"

"Three seconds, Miss Sciuto."

"All right, all right!" said the Goth woman, giving up on the pretence that Officer Klansky's presence was unnerving her. "I went to McGee's flat but it was a very small, minuscule, itty-bitty disobedience of your orders. I went there because…. I was concerned."

"_You_ were concerned about McGee? _Do you think I'm a fool?_" asked Vance, his rumbling voice as low and dangerous as a subterranean explosion.

"No, Sir, that's the truth! I was worried about Timmy," replied Abby with a discreet and desperate wink in Gibbs' general direction. "Since he has come home from abroad, he's been a different man; I mean, look at him! He has scars, he plays with that big dark knife he keeps under his jacket, he has a threatening behavior towards his co-workers and he won't talk to anyone, not even to Gibbs. Now, Gibbs is the best to give moral support when the job gets too much and we need to talk: he lets his door open all the time and he's always give a shoulder to cry on before offering a drink of Bourbon. But Timmy doesn't go to Gibbs' place; he never calls me, or Tony, to ask for help in dealing with the horrors he has seen during his mission. No, he stays in his place all day and go out only to see that useless Doctor Turner, who fills his head with psychiatric nonsense before sending him back to his empty flat. Timmy is shutting himself out from his friends; within a few weeks, he will pop pills inside his mouth as if it was free candy, and you wonder why I was concerned? I couldn't let Timmy destroy himself, Director!"

Vance let out an incredulous snort that sounded like the explosion of high-pressure gas bubbles in a magma chamber.

"Please, Sir! I admit not having been the best of friends for Timmy during his stay abroad but it was because I was furious at him for having left us in such a short notice, but after he came back I was determined to make amends. I wanted to _apologize_, see? But you forbade us to have any contacts with him and I didn't want Timmy to think that I was still crossed at him, so out of friendship I decided to temporarily disobey your orders just to be sure that he was faring well. Timmy's my best friend and I'd do anything for him!"

"Then how do explain the fact you used lock-picking tools to enter his flat, whereas you could have contented yourself by ringing the doorbell?"

"I did ring the doorbell, Sir! But nobody answered and I wasn't to remain in the hallway like a dummy, was I? So yeah, I picked at the lock a little but it was for a good cause: I wanted to cook Timmy a good meal once he'd be home, to pamper him a little. I never had the intention to steal his belongings, contrary of what those lying cops have said. I'm not a thief! I've never taken anything that didn't belong to me in my life – heck, I didn't even shoplifted things when I was a teenager!"

Gibbs rubbed a hand over his tired eyes; Abby was digging her own grave with her tongue and she was not even aware of it. Did she really think Leon Vance would fall for her pitiful explanations? Had she forgotten that before endorsing a Director of a federal agency's responsibilities, Vance was a pretty good investigator with lots of experience in interrogating suspects? Talk about weaving with your own hands the cord destined to hang you!

**How could such a thing happen? **

"Unfortunately for you, Miss Sciuto, I don't believe a word you're saying."

"But, Sir!"

"You and Agent DiNozzo have laughed for years about Agent McGee's inabilities to lie, but it's a classical case of the pot calling the kettle black; you couldn't sell light switches to an Amish and yet you still think you can fool me by telling ridiculous tall stories to my face. Then again, this isn't the first time you've lied to Agent Gibbs and to me – in fact, it's part of your usual tactic but you have forgotten Agent McGee isn't present to be blamed in your stead."

"Please…"

"Sorry, Miss Sciuto, but your time's off: we uptight bureaucrats are not renowned for our patience, especially towards lying-through-their-teeth employees."

Abby blanched; she remembered having called Vance an uptight bureaucrat earlier and, obviously he had heard her – well, of course, the two-way mirror! Vance had listened to her conversation with Gibbs before entering the interview room and he had not missed a word, especially her admission of having broken into McGee's flat to grab the canine Jethro. Gosh, how could she have forgotten about the mirror! She was the most intelligent person of NCIS and yet she had fallen into that trap like a novice delinquent! But she had been so relieved to see her silver-haired fox coming to her rescue that she had dismissed from her mind this mean of observation present in every police station, complete with microphones tolisten to conversations when a suspect was interrogated. Things were going downhill by the second and she needed to turn the tables in her favor real fast!

"Please, Sir…"

"Miss Sciuto, you burglarized Agent McGee's flat to steal his dog, end of story. You also went to see him in spite of my direct orders and, considering the series of incidents you have provoked for months within and outside a respected federal agency, I have no other choices than to…"

"**HOLD IT, DIRECTOR!"**

The brusque change of tone from the Lab Rat cut short Vance's tirade; Abby had shredded her "little-girl-lost" attitude to opt for a more aggressive, combative look and, if Gibbs had not known any better, he could have sworn his favorite suffered from Dissociative identity disorder.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I haven't finished talking, Sir!"

"It seems to me that there is nothing else to be added. You have disobeyed my orders to leave both Agent McGee and his dog alone and you have brought disgrace upon NCIS. Therefore…"

"I'm not the only person in town who has disobeyed your orders, Sir! In fact, compared to some people I happen to know, my disobedience is a peccadillo."

"Abby, what on Earth are you saying?" growled Gibbs, getting worried about the embarrassing matter of Tony's prints on the lock-picking tools.

"You want to know, Gibbs? Then I'll repeat what I've told you before: get me out of here and I'll tell you!"

"Now what, Miss Sciuto?" interrupted Vance. "Don't think for a minute that a sensational announcement will save your bacon; it is utterly fried and I won't be impressed by your pitiful attempts of justifying your actions by comparing them to other persons'."

"Not even if it is McGee?" asked Abby with a venomous voice as she decided to play her second trump card. "You consider him as your new superstar with that great big project he supervised for months so now he can't do anything wrong to your eyes – well, that's not the case! McGee is making a mockery of your orders about avoiding contact with his colleagues, Sir – more the matter, he also transgressed one of Gibbs' rules so if you wanna blame me, then you ought to blame McGee as well. I don't see why I should face the music alone!"

"I've heard you mentioning this to Agent Gibbs just as he was leaving the room," said Vance, his eyes shining like incandescent cinder. "Frankly, I doubt that anything you want to reveal can somehow diminish the importance of your wrongdoings, Miss Sciuto."

"Oh, yeah? Well, hear this: **McGee is in a relationship with Ziva!**"

Gibbs opened his mouth and forgot to close it; Officer Klansky was wondering who could be the Ziva in question and how she had anything to do with a burglary attempt. Vance only frowned deeper, making his eyebrows to almost connect with his lower eyelids.

"There, see? McGee's not the immaculate little angel he pretends to be!" exclaimed Abby with a smug smile on her face. "He's a dirty liar, a sneak and a cheat; as soon as he was on sick leave, he had to go and do a sickly sweet amorous number on Ziva while he damn well knew that A) he was disobeying your orders about not being in contact with his teammates, Sir and B) he broke Gibbs' Rule no. 12, _"Never date a co-worker"_ even though he is still a member of Team Gibbs and he is under the obligation to obey the rules at all times. And Ziva is the same way: for all that military training she boast about, she should know better than to make the beast with two backs without authorization from her immediate superiors. And don't tell me that this relationship is only a figment of my imagination, Gibbs! I've seen them both with my own eyes in the parking lot next to McGee's building, engaged in some heavy kissing as if they believed to be the heroes of a cheap romantic novel written for starry-eyed girls."

The Goth woman made a disgusted face at the recollection of having seen Tim and Ziva kissing at dawn, before the ex-Mossad would take her car and leave: "Bleah, I don't know what was the most nauseating: them breaking the rules or watching their gluey snouts from all that kissing and licking and exchange of saliva. They were revolting, the both of them – two-faced hypocrites who pretend to follow the rules while they're having their own private agendas! I've been suspecting Ziva of lying to Gibbs for a while now, but I'd never thought she would have the nerve to break the most important rule and with McGee, no less – even though Timmy is _**mine**_, and will remain so for the rest of his life."

Officer Klansky was starting to feel very ill at ease from this display of pathological possessiveness, and wondered if she should call for reinforcements and an ambulance from the nearest psychiatric hospital.

"She put her slimy paws on my man, she stole my flowers, she disobeyed Gibbs' rules and Vance's orders; how's that for a crime bigger than mine?" asked Abby. "And McGee is faking to have been traumatized by the death of the witc… of the girlfriend who has managed to get herself killed in an attack – but who is he trying to kid? That charlatan would not be able to get laid if he were truly traumatized! But strangely enough, he has enough lucidity to transgress orders from both his boss and his Director and that's inacceptable. Putting up a computer program and using his dog as a Guinea pig don't place him above rules and I demand that you launch disciplinary actions towards McGee. He's even guiltier than Ziva since he has created no ends of trouble to Gibbs – to whom he owes everything – while he was abroad, and didn't even bothered to apologize on his return. Not only McGee is an ungrateful jerk but he's also a transgressor and…."

"**ENOUGH!"** roared Director Vance, making Abby and Officer Klansky to jump a feet in the air. A tired Gibbs merely took a seat to watch for the upcoming disaster.

The Lab Rat felt icy shivers running down her spine and for a while, she forgot about her aching bottom. Maybe she has been a bit too vehement in her defense speech but she **had** to convince her silver-haired fox and the Director that McGee and Ziva were bigger criminals than she was: her job, her income and her future were at stakes and she could not let Gibbs or Vance to make wrong assumptions based on a pair of stupid cops' arrest report and an old bat spying through a peephole! She had assumed the ex-Marine and the Director would be furious learning about Tim and Ziva's transgressions so she had spared no expanses in diabolizing the young couple – besides, they were the guilty party, not her. If they had not made a mockery of orders, Abby would not have gotten in this mess in the first place.

She had hoped against all odds to convince her audience of the legitimacy of her actions but, from the look on Vance's face, it had all been in vain. The Director looked like he was barely able to restrain himself from throttling her on the spot and Abby felt strangely relieved that she was in the presence of a police officer.

"**Miss Sciuto, I'm putting a definitive end to all this nonsense – and to your contract with NCIS at the same time. You're FIRED!"**

"WHAT? But you don't have the right to…"

"**I DON'T HAVE THE RIGHT? WHAT A CHEEK!"** thundered Vance. Had he been a volcano, he would have ejected huge lava bombs to altitudes varying from tens to hundreds of meters in the air from the violence of his explosion.** "FOR YOUR INFORMATION, I'M THE DIRECTOR OF THE NCIS FEDERAL AGENCY, MISS SCIUTO! AND IT GIVES ME THE RIGHT TO DECIDE WHO WORKS FOR ME AND WHO IS BEING SHOWN THE DOOR – THE LATTER BEING YOU!"**

Officer Klansky inwardly wished she had worn her anti-riot gear.

"But!"

"**SILENCE! I'm sick and tired of listening to your stupidities. I've had enough of your bratty attitude; I am fed up with your disobedience and that moving crybaby number supposed to spare you from all blame. I am disgusted by your constant accusations against Agent McGee so he'd be blamed for your lies. And I have more than enough of you meddling with that goddamned dog!"**

"Oh please, Sir!"

"**Silence, I've said! And it's useless to turn on the waterworks – it will work neither on Gibbs nor on me. Keep those tears for the judge!"**

"No, no! I cannot be dragged to the courthouse! I've already got a Citation Release on my record; if I go to court, the judge will send me to prison!" said a panicking Abby.

"**You should have thought of that before pulling that burglary stunt, Miss Sciuto!"**

"Sir, please! I won't do it again, I promise! Don't fire me! Gibbs! GIIIIIIIIIIIIBBS! Tell Director Vance that I'm sincere and he has to take me back!"

"I can't do that, Abby," said the ex-Marine, unable to look at the Lab Rat in the eye. "You and I both know your promises last only for a few seconds and you'd try to grab Jethro again as soon as my back is turned."

"No, I won't! I swear!"

"Forget it, Abby. I warned you to leave Tim alone and you didn't listen. Then again, you never do."

"Miss Sciuto, it's useless to call for Agent Gibbs' help," said Vance in a voice that resembled to the hissing sound of molted lava. "He's obviously as disgusted as I am by your attitude and besides, it won't change anything. You've been treading a very fine line for months and only the fact I was preoccupied by Agent McGee while he was abroad has prevented me from firing you but now that he's amongst us safe and sound, I have no scruples in kicking you out and if you want to know the reasons for your dismissal, I'll be happy to provide you with a list: multiple scandals in the bullpen, failure to follow orders, lack of respect towards your superior, false accusations against Agent McGee, physical assault on Doctor Mallard, aggressive attitude towards Richard Peterson, insults against co-workers, attempted burglary, trespassing, plus the illegal surveillance of Andrew Somerset and two attempts of dog-napping on Agent McGee's pet. In a word, you could have won the _"Worst employee of the year"_ award hands down if we held this kind of ceremony at NCIS."

"I'm a highly qualified scientist and the best Forensic expert the world has ever seen. NCIS will fall if you fire me!"

"I doubt that very much, Miss Sciuto – in fact, I'm ready to bet my agency will work a lot better without your histrionics at the lab and in the bullpen. As for your level of expertise, I have a binder full of résumés from scientists who have better qualifications than you and doubtless they will have a better attitude, too," added Vance, his face as dark as a pyroclastic flow.

"But… But… Gibbs, help me! GIBBS!"

"**I've already told you to stop asking for Agent Gibbs' help, Miss Sciuto!"**

Abby's trembling increased ever more as her world crumbled and fell over her head. She had lost her job and her protector in less than half an hour; what would happen to her next? Would she have to spend the night in this awful police station? Would the judge send her to jail until the day of her trial? She did not have much money left on her bank accounts so she would have to make do with a public defender, and posting bail would be ruinously expensive. And then, how would she ever find the money to pay the rent, the heating bill or food? Losing her income would be disastrous and Abby pictured herself in her mind selling her belongings in a garage sale to earn a few coins, but what would happen when she would have nothing left to sell? As for finding a new job with poor or no references, it would feel like trying to pilot a torpedoed ship!

"Sir, please! Don't do this to me!"

"I have. I did. It's done."

"**But what about McGee and Ziva? They disobeyed you more than I did; why shouldn't they be punished? Why am I the only one being destroyed?"** shouted Abby.

"Oh, you mean about their relationship? I already knew about it."

This time, it was Gibbs' turn to be surprised.

"What?" asked the silver-haired man.

"Agents McGee and David have told me in confidence for some time now. They wanted their relationship to remain a secret, considering Miss Sciuto's trademark jealousy and Agent DiNozzo's unfounded claims to be Agent David's boyfriend. Agents McGee and David are in love and since there are no laws against this (not in the NCIS' rules handbook, anyway), then I let them carry on their romance with my regards. As for Agent Gibbs' rules, there may be one against dating but, as far as I know, there are none against falling in love. Besides, Agent McGee doesn't feel he has to follow those rules since the spectacular goof his Team Leader has committed; do you know what I'm talking about?"

The only answer was a sigh from Gibbs; his youngest son was still suffering from that ill-fated phone call to Burt Butler, even months after the death of the turncoat mercenary and the ex-Marine would never forgive himself for this.

"Bottom line, Agents McGee and David are in the clear and your sensational revelation is nothing but a damp squib, Miss Sciuto. **You're fired, and that's final!"**

"HOW CAN YOU BE SO CRUEL? After all I've done for you and the agency!"

"Give me a break.! You wouldn't have been able to do half the work you pretend to have done without Agent McGee acting as your unofficial assistant. I sure hope your successor will be organized, efficient and polite – all the qualities you lack of!"

"I HATE YOU!"

"I don't care. You're still fired, Miss Sciuto. I'll let you deal with your problems at this police station and once you have posted bail, you'll find your stuff delivered at your place after a thorough check from Security. You have become _persona non grata_ at NCIS and be warned that any attempt to re-enter the building will end with MPs and handcuffs. I suppose you're staying here to dry your favorite's tears, Gibbs?"

The Team Leader got up from his chair, looking as if he had aged ten years in ten minutes.

"No, Leon. I'll go with you, if you don't mind."

"Yeah, you look like you could use a drink. Let's go, Gibbs."

The two men exited the interview room and slammed the door on Abby's cries.

"GIBBS! GIBBS! COME BACK! GET ME OUT OF HERE! THAT'S AN ORDER! GIIIIIIIIIIIIBBS!"

TBC…


	98. A disillusion

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- François-Marie Arouet (1694–1778), known by his _nom de plume_ Voltaire, was a French Enlightenment writer, historian, and philosopher (from Wikipedia).

- The Hebrew translations are from Fonebrew.

_- The Animal Factory _is a book written in 1977 by American author Eddie Bunker (1933-2005).

- To cree: thank you so much for your kind words! I am glad you liked the eruption of Volcano Vance.

- To Momcat: bonjour! I agree with you, Abby is definitively overestimated in the TV shows: in RL, she would have been given the boot years ago from her outrageous behavior, refusal to obey direct orders and for her manipulations and lies.

- To Reddragen: you will find out soon what Gibbs and Vance said to each other after leaving the police station.

- To Jeika: the long-awaited eruption has finally happened, hasn't it? xD

- To Guest: thank you! It is nice to know you have appreciated the chapter.

- To Corala: Abby's possibilities are now limited, since she cannot charm or blackmail her way out of the slammer.

- To Killswitch: thank you for your review! This story is nearing its ends since it will reach a total of a hundred chapters.

- To JC: happy birthday! It is nice to know you liked the way Abby finally got an eye-opener.

- To Alucard: Houston, we have a problem… Abby is no longer a problem! ;o)

- To earthdragon: I will have pity on the wardens and not send Abby to jail… However, she will lose her job and her income.

- To sprouthater: like Roald Dahl, I believe in baddies getting their just desserts and Abby have lied, cheated and manipulated people for years.

- To tiger: thank you for your g-r-r-r-reat review!

- To Gracieironic: Jet's points of view are fun to write, believe me!

- To Angela: you are going to get your answer about the conversation with the President in this chapter.

- To Vickie: Abby is a done deal, and won't cause any more trouble to Tim and Ziva since her 'great revelation' turned out to be a damp wick.

- To None: Tony won't be happy about the medal and the relationship between Tim and Ziva, but he's not eager to see the Dark Dove embedded in his office chair again!

- To Rie: the confrontation with Tony will happen soon!

- To Guest: a new chapter is posted every weekend, since I don't have the time to write during workdays.

- To MarkyV: the quote is from Amos 5:24, _"__But let justice roll on like a river, righteousness like a never-failing stream"_. Agatha Christie used it for her novel _Nemesis_ (1971).

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><p><strong>Chapter 97: A disillusion<strong>

_At Tim's flat…_

Tim McGee was seated on the couch of his living-room; he was still wearing the suit he had donned on for the White House party, but his tie was slightly crooked and his shirt had gained a few wrinkles after he had learned of the events that had transpired at his flat during his absence. The young man was clutching the case containing the Presidential Medal of Freedom in one hand and petting his dog with the other, a posture that was resuming his whole day: he had experienced the best and the worst in less than a few hours.

After the award ceremony had ended, Tim had been in a state of absolute contentment, his ears filled with Presidential words of praise and his mind constantly replaying the scene when the defeated Admiral McGee had been expelled from the Oval Office, flanked by two Security Service agents. The young man had to admit a part of him had been satisfied by the sight: his arrogant father had finally gotten his comeuppance after years of pain he had inflicted on his own flesh and blood. The harsh insults, the constant belittling, the slaps across the face whenever Timmy brought home an _'all-A'_ report card, the public accusations of cowardice, the open disdain towards university degrees and, worse of all, the slander of Tim's career at NCIS… The Admiral had turned the sullying of his son's reputation into a hobby and he had been enjoying every second of it, so no one could blame the younger McGee for having felt gleeful for a moment while watching his father being ousted of the Oval Office after having made a total fool out of himself in front of the President and an assembly of Army, Navy and Air Force dignitaries.

But Tim's good nature had also been upset by the incident; he had secretly hoped against all odds that the Admiral would make amends and publicly acknowledged his issue's good work; Tim would have then asked the photographer to take a picture where the McGee, father and son, would have posed holding the Presidential Medal of Freedom's case together. After the ceremony, Tim would have celebrated his award with his parents and Sarah at a nice restaurant and it would have sealed his reconciliation with the Admiral. Alas, this dream had not become true, and Tim had felt a big lump of sorrow growing inside his throat after his father had been whisked away.

Only the timely intervention of Director Vance and General Stephenson quoting Sir Francis Bacon had prevented the young man to feel guilty for his father's behavior, not to forget the White House's tenant...

Tim closed his eyes at the memory of the President's words, right after McGee Senior's hasty departure...

_(Flashback)_

"_Good men and women who provide the United States of America with invaluable knowledge for our citizens and our soldiers __**deserve**__ to be awarded, and medals are a reflection of the courage, loyalty, intelligence and audacity deployed by some of the most outstanding individuals. CHRIS' protection will be extended to our homeland and our forces abroad, but also to our allies in the fight against terror. Enemies will learn the hard way that their usual cowardly means, such as posing bombs in front of schools or keeping innocents as hostages, will inevitably spell their dooms. CHRIS will detect them and we will strike swiftly and thoroughly. Terrorists will bite the dust before finding themselves in lock-up, and they will face justice in their own countries for conspiracy to commit murder. You have given the US forces an enormous leverage over blood-thirsty enemies and this medal is a small reward compared to the service you have rendered to your country, Agent McGee."_

"_Sir..." had managed to whisper Tim, impressed beyond words by the Commander-in-Chief of the US armed forces._

"_And never let anyone tell you intelligence is nothing compared to brute force or heavy weaponry. This is an idiotic remark proffered only by embittered fools who have failed in developing their intellects, and then feel the need to 'avenge' themselves by denigrating those who know how to use their brains. A petty, ridiculous attitude but, to quote French philosopher Voltaire, _'Common sense is not so common'_. I thank God for people like you, Agent McGee – people blessed with both intelligence and good sense, and who don't let the jealous to stop them from successfully completing exceptional projects. It is people like you who make history, the ones who can see farther and deeper than the rest of us."_

"_I... Thank you, Sir. I'd just like to say I cannot take all the credit, Sir. I have been helped by brave Marines while testing CHRIS in the Afghani desert and I have benefited from the good influence of two men who have shown me the way; I will be always grateful to them all for their support."_

"_Oh, I'm sure you will," said the President with a meaningful look towards General Stephenson and Director Vance. "Good influence can come from everywhere: at work, for example... or even in a war zone. The difference between a smart man and a fool is that a smart man always sees chances to improve his knowledge, whereas a fool wrongly thinks he already knows everything and misses opportunities to better himself."_

_Tim had a hard time to refrain from blushing; the President had unknowingly resumed the situation at NCIS, where people like Gibbs or Tony remained completely hermetic to new opportunities since they considered their knowledge as being enough to face any given situation, conveniently forgetting that the world was evolving faster than their prejudices._

"_Now, gentlemen, should we move this party to the Reception Room, and celebrate Agent McGee's success with a glass of champagne?" asked the President._

"_With pleasure, Mister President!" exclaimed Vance._

"_Likewise, Sir," added General Stephenson with a kind smile to Tim._

_The party at the Reception Room had been wonderful, with people happily chatting away while champagne, salmon toasts and _petits fours_ were served by competent and discreet staff. Tim had enjoyed every drop of the sparkling wine, every minute of the conversation with Vance and Stephenson; he had even memorized the view from the Reception Room to remember it until the day he died. The young man had thought it one of the best days of his life, and he had vowed to tell all about it to his kids – his and Ziva's – to encourage them in developing their talents..._

_...and then, the party had ended. Tim had left the West Wing with Stephenson and Vance in tow to retrieve their cell phones from Security..._

_Tim had found out he had a message from the R__hode Island Avenue police station about an incident at his flat._

_Vance had found out he had a message from a police officer named Eicher from the __R__hode Island Avenue police station._

_Both messages concerned an attempted burglary at Federal Agent Timothy McGee's flat, perpetrated by one Abigail Sciuto, who had been caught red-handed, subsequently arrested and taken to custody._

_NCIS Director Leon Vance had then let out a series of swear words that had startled the tourists queuing to enter the __Executive Residence of the United States of America, whereas Tim had let out a long-suffering sigh. Deep down, he had suspected this exceptional day would not go by without hitting a snag somewhere. Every time he had accomplished something in his life, there would be someone showing up and spoil his moments of triumph – like the jocks who had ridiculed his valedictorian speech during high school graduation, or the Admiral showing indifference towards his son's MIT degree, or Tony deprecating Tim's work so many times he had lost count. The young man had learned at an early age to not be complacent since good things in his life never lasted long, so why should today be different? Why Tim McGee should imagine getting a decoration from the President would spare him from having his day ruined by inconsiderate jerks? _

_But Vance had promptly taken charge by ordering Tim to go home and check if any damages had been inflicted to his flat, while he would go to the police station and tell Miss Sciuto her career at NCIS was over. Tim, too worried about Jet, had not uttered a word in favor of his ex-lover, his feelings for Abby having died a long time ago from her lies and abuse. The Goth woman had wrongly thought she would hold Tim's heart in her hands forever since the computer tech was too shy and too afraid of Gibbs to dare disobeying her – overlooking the fact that, unlike her, Tim had matured over the years and was no longer afraid of her silver-haired fox._

_Vance had left the White House in a state of barely-repressed rage and Tim had apologized to General Stephenson, telling him about a burglary attempt at his flat and he needed to go home and check on his dog and his possessions. Stephenson, always the wise man, had advised Tim to call his insurance company at once and to file up a complaint against Abby, regardless of the fact she was one of his co-workers and Gibbs' favorite. Stephenson had remembered the letter of apology he had intercepted at ISAF, the one written by Gibbs trying to make amends and the General had quickly understood the burglar in question was the "Abby" mentioned in the letter – the same woman who apparently enjoyed framing Tim for her disobediences in full impunity, since she was under the protection of an ex-Marine. Stephenson had seen this obnoxious behavior many times and he had told Tim that a frontal attack was the best way to break through the defenses of manipulative persons: unused to resistance – and cowards to the core – those people would usually flee the battlefield in an inglorious debacle!_

_Tim had thanked the General for his strategically advice, and then he had rushed to his car to head home, his heart grateful for the old man's words and his brains filled with anxieties about what could have happened to Jet._

_(End flashback)_

* * *

><p>A low whine shook Tim out of his reverie and he petted Jet on the head; once he had stepped foot inside his apartment, the young man had been greeted by an over-excited dog and it had taken many hugs and other demonstrations of affections to calm down the German shepherd. Mrs. Bergman had come up and explained Tim what had happened during his absence, about a Goth woman forcing the lock of his front door; Mrs. Bergman witnessing the whole thing and calling the police; the Goth woman trying to coax Jet out of the flat at the same moment the police officers had arrived; and Jet biting the intruder in the butt just before the arrest! Mrs. Bergman had also mentioned Abby's threats but she had assured Tim that she had not been impressed by the least from the lashing out of a clearly unhinged woman. The old lady had then given Tim the phone number of a very good locksmith who would repair his front door in a snap, just before advising him to brush Jet's teeth: the taste of the Goth woman's flesh could be poisonous for the dog!<p>

That last part had made Tim howl in laughter and Jet, sensing his master was taking the incident rather well, had seized the opportunity to lick the young man's face all over. Once his hilarity had calmed down, McGee had thanked Mrs. Bergman for her help and she had simply stated that good people deserved good neighbors. Tim had awarded Jet a _Meat-O Jumbo_ marrow bone for being a good watchdog before checking around in his flat to make sure nothing was missing: electronics, jewelry, credit cards, clothes, sports gear and books, everything was at its place. Once it was done, he had wasted no time calling firstly his insurance agent, secondly the locksmith. Within half an hour, the young man had been reassured on both matters: Mr. Weber, from the Home and Car Protection insurance company, would send him by email the needed paperwork to fill for the claim; and the locksmith, Harry Waller, had told him he would come in about two hours to change the damaged lock.

McGee had then received a frantic phone call from Ziva, who had told him about Gibbs' hasty departure after having mentioned a new 'Abby-incident'. The young man had then gotten the whole view of what had happened during the afternoon: Abby – an attempted burglary – Jet – a biting – police – Gibbs leaving the office – Vance going to the police station, the chain was complete. The only logical conclusion had been that Abby had tried to snatch Jet, just like Andy had told him after his return from Afghanistan. But Jet had fought back and the police, warned by Mrs. Bergman, had arrived in time to arrest the Lab Rat. Abby had then called Gibbs for his help while Vance learned about his employee's burglary tendencies, and doubtless it had ended in a serious conversation within the police station's walls.

Ziva had been outraged hearing about Abby's latest exploits and she had been closed to go down to the lab and smash the Goth woman's prized machines to smithereens, her cherished 'babies' as she called them. But McGee had told the ex-Mossad that he needed her in this difficult time and Ziva would not be of any help if she was arrested for vandalism and destruction of federal property. Sensing the wisdom in those words, Ziva had then grabbed her backpack to leave the office at once, paying no heed to Tony's vain attempts in ordering her, as Senior Agent, to remain at work and wait for Gibbs' call.

The young woman had driven her car like a maniac and she had arrived at Tim's place in record time. She had then climbed the stairs four steps at a time (the elevator was too slow) and fly through the hallway like a bullet just before passing through the flat's open front door to kiss the living daylights of her special man seated on the couch, still clutching his phone. They had kissed and hugged and kissed over and over again until the lack of air had left them both panting for air, and then Tim had told the Israeli woman what had happened while he was awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom at the White House.

Ziva's beautiful face had turned into ice and she had been pacing back and forth in the living room ever since, knitting her brow in the most severe manner and making Tim a bit nervous. Ziva was his living goddess but he knew she could be anger-prone at times with catastrophic results, and he did not need another incident in his flat. A foiled burglary by a disgruntled former co-worker was enough for one day, thank you very much.

Ziva was still frowning and McGee decided to get over with it by asking:

"What is it, _icha néhédérète_ (magnificent woman)?"

"I can't make up my mind, _ahouve chély _(my beloved)," answered the ex-Mossad.

"About what?"

"I cannot decide about what I'm going to do to Abby when I get my hands on her: should I break every bone of her body, or strangle her with her own pigtails, or maybe just turn her into "Scot" tape?"

Tim had a hard time to refrain from laughing; even if he knew his beautiful lover was deadly serious about inflicting grievous damages to the disgraced Lab Rat, her little slips of tongue (the world-famous 'Zivaisms') were irresistible but also a great help in lightening a somber mood.

"I think you mean "Scotch" tape, Ziva but I'm having a hard time imagining Abby being turned into office supplies. And breaking her bones or strangling her would be a bit extreme, don't you think?"

"EXTREME? After what she's done to you, I think she got out "Scotch-free"."

This time, Tim laughed out loud!

"It is _'scot-free'_, _motèke chély_ (my darling) and you are simply wonderful! Just remember, Abby's currently cooling her heels while locked up in a prison cell of a police station; she'll have stay overnight amongst vagrants, drug addicts and prostitutes and she'll be dragged to court first thing tomorrow morning. After hearing arguments from both the District Attorney and the Defense Attorney, the judge will decide if Abby can be released on bail or not. If he agrees, she'll have to pay a large amount and I doubt she has the financial means to post bail, considering the fact she has been suspended without pay for months and she has never play penny-ante. If the judge thinks she's a danger to society, then he'll refuse bail and Abby would have to remain in jail until the trial. This is punishment enough and I'd rather let our legal system deal with her, instead of unleashing our wrath in an uncivilized way."

"Right now, I don't give a damn about civilization," grumbled Ziva between her teeth. "Abby has crossed the line and no one, not even Gibbs, will convince me of otherwise. She waited for you to leave the flat like the sneaky rat she is, and tried to steal your dog away from you – and she would have succeeded, if it hadn't been for that old lady next door!"

"Dearest, you have forgotten Jet has played a part in foiling her great plan, too: he resisted her attempts to get him out of the house and in the end, he bit her – on the posterior, according to Mrs. Bergman; it must have been devastating for Abby. Her canine protégé has turned against her and that's not something she would have imagined, not in a million years."

"Oh no, I haven't forgotten; in fact, I'm planning to buy Jet a big bone from the butcher's shop tomorrow! But I'm feeling so angry towards Abby that I want to kick her bottom like a football, before pounding her clear across the room. She had no rights to barge in your flat; she had no rights to steal your dog; and she had no rights to spoil your special day!"

Tim sighed, and then he motioned to Ziva to sit next to him on the couch. Jet, sensing that "Zee-va" was angry, sat on the rug between his two favorite humans before licking the young woman's hand and Ziva stifled a laugh.

"Ziva, _ani ohev otach."_

"_Ani ohevet otcha_, my Tim."

"Dearest, I know you're angry; I am, too, and yet I beg you to not do anything that we would both regret. Abby acted like a fool and she will face consequences, since Gibbs won't be able to help her this time: on top of having tried to steal from me, she resisted arrest, she threatened Mrs. Bergman and all this won't plead in her favor during the trial. In the worst case scenario, Abby will go to prison and it will cause irremediable damage to her career and reputation, provided she ever survives being incarcerated in the 'animal factory'. At best, if she isn't sentenced to do jail time, she won't be out of the woods yet: Vance is likely to fire her and Abby won't find a new job easily, since she won't have any references to present and it will look strange after having spent almost ten years at NCIS. Doubtless Gibbs will lend her money but he won't be able to support her indefinitely, not on a government employee's salary and he won't be able to keep his high crime-solving rates with only Tony as the sole remaining member of his dream team."

"Well, she'll probably pack her bags and move in Gibbs' house to cry on his shoulder day and night about the horrible way she has been treated by Vance and by you!" replied an acerbic Ziva. "And Gibbs won't be able to refuse her, not even after she turns his living-room into a Gothic lair and sells his woodworking tools over the Internet to pay for her clothes and make-up."

"That's probably what is going to happen but it's not our problem anymore, sweetheart," said Tim firmly, holding Ziva's hand between his owns. "Within a few weeks, we'll be in California with thousands of miles separating us from Abby's stupidities and Gibbs' blindness. A brilliant future awaits us in the West Coast and it would be foolish to ruin it by punching Abby's lights out and get in no ends of trouble with Vance, don't you think so?"

Ziva sighed and squeezed Tim's fingers: "You are right, _lève chély chèl ariyé_ (my lion-heart). I wish I had a 'cold' head on my shoulders just like you, but anytime I hear about someone who has wronged you I want to grab my blades and cut at everything on sight! But you are far wiser than me and I'm lucky to have you in my life."

"No, Ziva. I'm the lucky one to be loved by a beautiful, courageous, loyal woman with a heart of gold and the soul of an angel."

A passionate kiss followed those words and the young couple fell on the couch in a tangle of arms and legs, laughing as they tugged at each other's clothing. Jet, sensing another mating session was about to begin between his favorite humans, left the living-room to sit in the hallway's floor. The dog had figured out "A-bee" had damaged the lock and the front door had been left open for other potential intruders to enter. Jet could understand why "Teem" and "Zee-va" wanted to mate – it was a way to strengthen bounds after an upsetting event – but the shared territory had to be protected nonetheless and it was the German shepherd's duty to guard it while his master and new mistress were… busy.

However, after a few minutes, the dog's keen ears picked up the sounds of the "leeft" stopping at their level, followed by the familiar sounds of the metallic doors opening and… the unfamiliar sounds of footsteps coming in the direction of the territory.

The fur on Jet's neck had stood on its ends as the dog let out a soft growl. He could not see the newcomer since the door was ajar but his other senses had provided him with worrisome information: a human; male; older than "Teem"; his footsteps were heavy and there was a strong smell of alcohol in the air – Jet knew this pungent liquid could make humans act as if they had gotten rabies, or make them sleep like the dead. There was also a dangerous vibe about this approaching human and Jet did not like it at all.

The German shepherd let out a loud bark; on the couch, an alarmed Tim and Ziva instantly stopped their kissing to grab their weapons of choice – the Dark Dove for McGee, the scalpel-like blades for the ex-Mossad. Then the loud footsteps stopped and the front door was gently pushed open on its hinges, revealing none other than NCIS Federal Agent and Team Leader Leroy Jethro Gibbs!

"Hey, Tim… May I come in? I wanna talk for a minute…"

* * *

><p>The young couple had remained stunned for a second, barely believing their future ex-Boss was actually standing on Tim's threshold and paying no attention to an increasingly menacing eighty-five pounds German shepherd!<p>

After having returned from Afghanistan, McGee had made it clear he did not want to talk to Gibbs; even after having read the older man's apology letter again and again, Tim was still haunted by Aimee's death and he simply could not forget it had been Gibbs' breach of security that had led to the demise of the beautiful doctor, a woman who had ever been good to him, the first one who had truly loved him. Afraid he might say things he would regret for the rest of his life, Tim had severed all ties with his former Boss – a decision reinforced by his upcoming transfer to the LA office – in the hopes that, with enough time and distance, he would find in him the courage to forgive Gibbs.

The ex-Marine seemed to have accepted Tim's decision for a change, and had not tried to contact him since their painful reunion at the bullpen, with Tony's derogatory remarks being cut short by the Dark Dove and Abby doing her usual Human Society Drama Queen act. But the afternoon's events had turned Gibbs' world upside down and, after having a few drinks with Vance, the former Gunnery Sergeant had felt an irrepressible urge to speak to Tim, his youngest son, his baby, his genius – at the risk of being greeted by a dark, dangerous blade but Gibbs had not cared about that. In spite of Vance's repeated warnings, he had drove his car to McGee's place like a man possessed and he had sneaked his way inside the building without having to buzz on the intercom. He had then quickly checked the mailboxes to find Tim's floor number and he had jumped inside the elevator, vowing he would not go home before he had properly apologized to his youngest.

Tim, from his part, was unable to wrap his mind around this extraordinary event: Gibbs was here in person, standing on the doorstep even though the ex-Marine had never bothered to come to McGee's place before! Gibbs was not a social animal and he would rather spend his evenings and week-ends woodworking in his basement than coming to his subordinates' flats for dinner or watching a football match. Of course, the Team Leader claimed his door was open day and night to his subordinates if they wanted to talk about something bothering them, but Tim had learnt by experience this open-door policy was a special treatment reserved exclusively to Gibbs' favorites – namely Abby, Tony and, in a lesser degree, Ziva. The young McGee had tried once or twice to come to Gibbs' place when the pressure from work had been too hard to endure, but the lukewarm welcome from the silver-haired man had discouraged Tim to ever try to confide his problems to his Boss.

Ziva was as surprised as her _ahouve_ and also embarrassed by Gibbs' presence, since neither she nor Tim could deny being in a relationship any longer – not in their disheveled state and caught in the act of lying together on a couch. Director Vance would not be happy, especially after having told them to keep a low profile but Gibbs was the least person Ziva had expected to show up. To her knowledge, the Team Leader had never bothered to come at McGee's flat and, considering the recent events, she had thought Gibbs would have stayed overnight at the police station, holding Abby's hand through the holding cell's bars while racking his brains in finding a solution to get his adopted daughter out of the mess she had found herself in.

Jet was still growling as he had identified the visitor: it was "Giiibz", the white-furred human he had seen with "A-bee" during his stay at the place looking and smelling like the vet's. Jet remembered "Giiibz" was very friendly with "A-bee" and, even though the dog had not smelt pheromones between the older male and the screaming-mad female, they had showed curious signs of affection like "Giiibz" pressing his face against "A-bee's" (had it been some sort of licking?) or "A-bee" wrapping both her front legs around "Giiibz's" neck (how was he supposed to breathe?). This memory caused the dog to increase his watchfulness: had "Giiibz" the idea to cause trouble in retaliation of "A-bee" having been bitten? If it were the case, Jet would show he had no scruples to sink his teeth in older humans' posteriors as well!

"Jet? Down, buddy. Stay down, it's all right," called Tim out loud and the dog obeyed at once. However, he remained on the alert, his brown eyes locked on the visitor.

"Can I come in, Tim?" asked Gibbs.

Tim and Ziva exchanged a glance, and then they discreetly put their respective blades away to greet their soon-to-be former Boss. McGee noticed at once the wobbling gait, the hesitant voice, the blue eyes glazed by an overconsumption of alcohol: a far cry from the self-confident image Gibbs showed the world and it was quite a shock to see him in such a state; in fact it was downright heartbreaking!

"Yeah, of course, Gibbs," answered the young man. "Would you like some coffee?"

"It'd be appreciated, McGee… Had one too many with Vance," said the ex-Marine while lowering himself with all his weight on the first armchair available.

Ziva, who had noted Gibbs' distressed state as well, wasted no time in straightening her clothes and then she went to the kitchen to prepare enough coffee for three persons. She suspected Gibbs was upset from Abby's latest exploits but also from what had happened in Afghanistan, so they might as well enjoy some mind-clearing hot beverage for their overdue _tête-à-tête_ in McGee's living-room.

The coffee was done quickly, thanks to the efficient gear Tim had bought for his kitchen (trust her _ahouve_ to buy only top-quality equipment). Ziva came back to the living-room in a snap, holding a tray with three mugs filled with steaming coffee, spoons and a small pot containing sugar cubes. She put the tray on the end table in front of the couch and proceeded to serve Gibbs, Tim and then herself. Jet licked his chops at the sight of the sugar but remained rooted on the spot: duty first!

The coffee was drank in silence, but Gibbs only managed to take three gulps before putting his mug back on the tray with a banging sound.

"Gibbs?" asked McGee.

"McGee… Tim, I'm sorry."

The young man felt a growing feeling of unease seizing him; Gibbs loathed apologies and he had made it his lifelong goal to discourage everyone under his orders to practice this basic notion of politeness, and yet he wanted to made amends? To him, Tim McGee, the low man of the totem pole? What could have happened to make the tough-as-nails, inflexible ex-Marine change his mind?

"What are you sorry about, Gibbs?" asked the young man prudently.

"**For having been a blind old fool! For having chased you away with my attitude! For not acknowledging your courage, your genius and your stout heart! For not having told off Tony whenever he played one of his dirty tricks on you! And for having given my heart to a woman who has played me like a marionette on strings!"** thundered the ex-Marine, his face displaying rage, love and sorrow at the same time.

TBC…


	99. An absolution

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

_- Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There_ is a novel written in 1871 by Lewis Carroll (1832–1898); this book is the sequel to _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_ (1865) (from Wikipedia).

_- Superman_ is a superhero from DC Comics, and was created in 1933 by writer Jerry Siegel (1914-1996) and artist Joe Shuster (1914-1992).

- The _Courir de Mardi Gras_ is a traditional Mardi Gras event held in many Cajun communities of south Louisiana, on the Tuesday before Ash Wednesday (from Wikipedia).

- Martha Jane Canary (1852–1903), better known as _Calamity Jane_, was an American frontierswoman and professional scout (from Wikipedia).

- Spanish author Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra (1547–1616) wrote _Don Quixote_ between 1605 and 1615.

- To cree: Gibbs showing up was quite a surprise, wasn't it? And this chapter will see the overdue conversation between Gibbs, Tim and Ziva.)

- To Momcat: _merci beaucoup, mon amie!_ You're right to say Gibbs would never apologize to Tim in the TV shows, which may help to explain why my story is AU ;o)

- To Guest: General Stephenson has become a surrogate father since he treats Tim with respect (unlike Gibbs) and affection (unlike the Badmiral).

- To Jeika: I think you're going to enjoy this chapter!

- To Guest: a new chapter every Saturday, as I cannot type any faster.

- To None: there will be a lot of anger in the discussion, but remember Tim's forgiving nature…

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 98: An absolution<strong>

_In Tim's living-room…_

"Gibbs…"

"She showed her true colors, McGee," said Gibbs, his eyes hardening like unforgiving sapphires. "I went to the police station to give Abby a piece of my mind about her burglarizing your home, and as soon as I stepped inside the interrogation room she did her usual number of denying all responsibility with a few shed tears thrown in for good measure, the same number she has served me for years to wrap me around her little finger, like the idiot I am…. But this time, I raised my voice. I wanted Abby to tell the truth for once and she admitted having broken into your flat to steal your dog, since according to her you've brainwashed the mutt and it would have been funny if it hadn't been such a pathetic attempt to sweep her misdeeds under the carpet."

"Abby has accused me of mistreating Jet many times in the past, Gibbs," interrupted Tim with a frown on his face. "This is not the first time it happens and it certainly won't be the last."

"**And I bought her lies hook, line and sinker!"** roared Gibbs in desperation, unable to look at Tim in the eyes. "Abby has told tall stories to my face, manipulated your feelings for her own gain, falsified her reports so her disobediences wouldn't show up and I've never noticed a thing! Some investigator I am! Gosh, Tim, how in the world have you endured working for an imbecile without losing your patience?"

Ziva, seated next to Tim, discreetly sought for the young man's hand along the couch's cushions and squeezed it.

"I told Abby that I wouldn't help her, and she would have to spend the night in jail and face the consequences of her actions in front of a judge the next morning. Abby was floored for a moment, as she was expecting that I'd bail her out just like last time and when she realized her _'little-girl-crying-for-her-Daddy'_ act would amount to nothing, she used another weapon: blackmail."

Tim slowly put his coffee mug down back on the table; this incredible news had made him forget his need for coffee after having been burglarized! Gibbs had refused to help his favorite? Gibbs had left his adopted daughter in a prison cell until the hearing? Abby had resorted to blackmail to convince her surrogate father to come to her aid? It felt as if Tim had gone through a looking glass just like little Alice in the Lewis Carroll's book, to be thrown in a world that was in reverse and where one had to run twice as fast to remain on the same spot.

Ziva's eyes narrowed in anticipation: the fact Abby had cried on Gibbs' shoulder was not surprising in itself; however, the Team Leader's refusal had been astonishing, to say the least! The Israeli woman had often though Abby would get away from everything as long as she was under the ex-Marine's protection, even if she had set the Forensics Lab on fire and she knew how to remain in Gibbs' good graces by using hugs, cajoleries and tears. Many NCIS Agents and employees had been disgusted by Abby's sycophantic attitude but none had found the nerve to make a stand against her or Gibbs – no one, except Ziva's special man. Only the quiet, intelligent and courageous Timothy McGee had told them a few home truths and it had put him in great danger but in the end, Tim had came out of hardships in triumph – like a phoenix rising from the ashes.

Jet's gaze remained fixed on "Giiibz", not liking the raised voice or the erratic behavior. The dog's keen sense of smell was telling him the white-furred older human was upset and had drank the pungent golden water that made humans mad – the same beverage his horrible ex-owners used to drink as if there would be no more sunrises – and Jet was readying himself for confrontation. If "Giiibz" ever had the idea of attacking "Teem" or "Zee-va", then he would realize the errors of his way by feeling the full wrath of a dedicated German shepherd!

"But how in the world could Abby ever imagine of blackmailing you about?" asked a surprised McGee. "You and I may have our differences but it doesn't change the fact you're a straight arrow and you would never took a dime that doesn't belong to you."'

Gibbs gulped down his coffee, both for gathering courage to say what he had to say but also to hide his pleasure after hearing Tim's words.

"Abby wanted to use indirect blackmail; she borrowed Tony's lock-picking tools to break into your flat but she was smart enough to wear gloves the whole time, so in case of trouble the police would only find _his_ prints on the hooks. Abby knew I wouldn't stand like a dummy and watch helplessly as Tony would be accused of burglary and escorted out of the NCIS building in handcuffs, escorted by two cops. His career has hit a major snag with those disastrous review board sessions; one more strike and Vance will have no other choice than to fire him, and being accused of theft would have been the perfect pretext to do so."

"Yes, it has been proven many times you'd go out of your way to save Tony," said Tim with a hint of bitterness in his voice. Ziva squeezed his hand tightly.

Gibbs understood the implied reproach but did not press on. It was not the time to try and justify his past actions, when he had treated McGee like a dirty old football and encouraged his subordinates to bully the computer tech at their hearts' content. He was here to make his _mea culpa_ and for once, he would not shrink from his responsibilities towards Tim McGee.

"I couldn't believe what Abby had said. She has proclaimed for the whole world to hear that she loves Tony like her big brother and yet she was ready to throw him to the wolves in a snap, just to protect her ass!"

"Here again, it's nothing new, Gibbs: putting the blame on somebody else is Abby's favorite game – she just switched from me to Tony, that's all. Had Tony not been available, she'd probably have preyed on Jimmy!"

Gibbs' coffee suddenly tasted very bitter.

"Abby could have done smashed Tony's career to bits – just like he did when he outmaneuvered you for this mission in Iraq – but she didn't care; she wanted me to bail her out and have the accusation of burglary 'erased' from her file so she could go home, as if I were Superman and could burn documents with laser-vision. I said 'NO' again and I was ready to make a statement about Tony manipulating the lock-picking tools under **my** strict supervision, as an exercise to break into a suspect's home during a murder investigation. I'd told the cops lock-picking was part of training and once it had been over, Tony had left the hooks gathering dust inside a drawer. It would have been a lie, of course, but I'm ready to perjure myself in court if it could save Tony, Ziva… and you, Tim. Please don't think for a moment that I wouldn't lie to protect you!"

Ziva glanced at McGee but the young man's face revealed nothing of his inner turmoil.

"I was about to leave but Abby announced she had one last trump card to play: she said you broke both my rules and Vance's orders, and she'd reveal more details only after I'd get her out of the police station. I was very worried, Tim; for a moment, I thought she had used her experience in forensics and computers to plant some evidence against you, just to tarnish your reputation and ruining all the work you've done in Afghanistan. I told Abby to tell me straight away but she flatly refused by arguing that I wasn't her direct supervisor and she had no orders to receive from me. Thankfully, salvation came in the form of fuming-and-furious Director Vance."

Gibbs drained the last of his coffee and carried on: "She tried to serve Vance a cock-and-bull story about having broken into your flat out of concern for you (and your dog, of course) and how she was a victim of police brutality but the Director didn't buy it for a minute, since he had overheard the conversation I've just had with Abby about she trespassing on your property to grab your dog. Feeling cornered, Abby finally played her trump card by revealing your relationship."

"WHAT?" said Tim and Ziva at unison.

"Yeah, Abby saw you both in the parking lot; according to her, you were engaged in some heavy kissing."

"**She was spying on us! I swear I'll skewer her!"** shouted Ziva, jumping on her feet while making a dangerous movement of the hand towards her blades.

"Ziva, _néhédérète_!" exclaimed Tim. "Please don't do anything; Abby's in jail, she cannot hurt us anymore, remember?"

"**I don't care! I'm gonna raid the police station and drag her out of her cell by her pigtails before pinning her against the wall like a butterfly!"**

An alarmed Jet left his post in the hallway to come closer to his favorite humans: "Zee-va" was howling and it was not a good sign.

"Ziva, please reconsider," said Tim in a soothing tone. "Attacking Abby will satisfy your sense of revenge but it won't solve anything – quite the contrary, it would serve her purposes. She won't hesitate to play the victim in court by showing her face full of bruises and the judge would blame the police officers for not having ensured her safety while being held in custody. Her attorney could even plead that the proofs had been extorted through physical brutality and the judge would have no other choice than to dismiss the case. Abby will walk out of the courtroom, free as a bird. This is not what you want – this is not what **we** want and butterflies have nothing to do with it. Abby has to answer for her actions so let's not give her ammunitions to shot her way out, right?"

The beautiful ex-Mossad remained rigid from rage for a few seconds, and then she sighed and sank back down on the couch, next to Tim. Jet, sensing the crisis was over, seized the opportunity to lick the young woman's hand in a gesture of appeasement and Ziva answered by scratching the dog on the head.

Gibbs looked in wonder at McGee, who had managed to rein in Ziva's ire with only a few words of good sense whereas it had taken the Team Leader a lot more time to calm Ziva when she had trashed the morgue, after Tony had confessed the rotten joke he had played on Tim at MTAC. The kid had a good influence on the hard-as-nails Israeli woman!

"_Yes, well, nobody said McGee was an idiot. Nobody except his stubborn-like-a-mindless-mule Team Leader, a bully in guise of a Senior Field Agent and a lousy Goth making histrionics in a lab,"_ said the voice of reason inside the silver-haired man's mind – a voice Gibbs had neglected for longer than he could remember.

Tim very gently pressed his lips against Ziva's temple, before turning his emerald gaze towards Gibbs:

"So she thought a little denunciation would go a long way, and lift the heat off her shoulders to place it on ours. I'm sorry to say this, Gibbs, but this is another blatant demonstration of Abby's cowardly nature."

"Oh, I know she is a coward; I know that _**now**_, as I was too stupid and too blind to admit it before but my eyes are open wide and frankly, I don't like what I see."

"And what did Vance say?" asked Ziva, returning to the matter at hand.

"He said he already knew about your relationship and wished you all the best, and then he fired Abby."

A stunned silence followed the silver-haired man's declaration. Abby was fired? _The firmly established, auto-proclaimed Queen of Forensic Sciences had been shown the door?_ That was impossible! Not with Gibbs in the room with Vance and Abby at the same time: the ex-Marine would rather throw himself under a train than to see a tearful Abby being kicked out of NCIS. Sure, Gibbs could no longer use the threat of resigning from his job out of protest, not after the mega-goof he had committed with that phone call to Butler but it would not have stopped the Team Leader from pleading Abby's cause to Vance until his tongue dried out.

"And you let Vance fire Abby? _**You?**_" asked an incredulous Ziva.

"Yes, Ziver."

"I'm having a hard time believing this… I thought you'd walk on hot coats before you let Abby face disciplinary actions!"

"It's _"coals"_, David and I may have been lenient towards Abby in the past, but it's over now."

"Why?"

"**Why? Because she broke into your flat, McGee!"** thundered Gibbs again, causing Jet to growl.** "She wanted to steal your dog! She tried to frame Tony for her misdeed; she denounced your relationship with Ziva; and, if it wasn't enough, she lied to Vance and to me in an effort to minimize her actions!"**

"So what? It has already happened in the past: Tony has broken into my flat several times, just for fun; Abby has framed me for Mawher, Mexico and countless other things; meddling with my love affairs is her favorite hobby, just like Tony. And lying to Vance's is a necessity for Abby: otherwise, she would have lost her job a long time ago! And yet, you have never felt it necessary to end your subordinates' callous attitude towards me: for all I know, you've never told Tony, Abby or Kate to stop their bullying. So why are you so upset about Abby's breaking and entering into my place, all of a sudden? She's your favorite, your Princess, your daughter in all but blood who has to be protected like a porcelain doll under a glass globe – and especially from Bad McGee, the dog-killer who has ruined her universe. And speaking of dogs, kindly refrain from shouting, Gibbs: Jet doesn't like nervous persons too close to me."

Gibbs glanced downwards and indeed, there was an eighty-five pound German shepherd watching him with his teeth bared, showing a great display of loyalty towards his master. Too bad dogs were not allowed in the bullpen: Jet would have defended McGee much better than a certain ex-Marine!

"You're right, Tim. I have been overprotective towards Abby at your expenses, and I've been an imbecile. Again, I'm sorry –for my blindness and my refusal to acknowledge the sufferings you have endured because of me. Right now you could punch my lights out and I wouldn't move an inch from this chair, as I'm too ashamed of myself to even care about physical pain."

"Not my style, Gibbs, and you know it. I don't hit people, even if being a gentleman is a proof of stupidity, according to you. So, what are you going to do?" asked Tim, as he was convinced Gibbs had offered sanctuary to Abby at his house until the storm would pass. Regardless of how angry Gibbs was at the Goth woman for the moment, he would shelter Abby and help her in the search of a new job.

"Nothing."

"NOTHING?" repeated the young man.

"Not a thing."

"But… She will lose her income, and then she'll be kicked out of her flat with nowhere to go!"

"Abby can squat at Tony's place, sleep in the streets or under a bridge, or go to the St John's Chrysostom's convent, provided the nuns will accept her but that's not certain. Or she can go back to Louisiana and parade as the unique Goth of the Bayou during the _Courir de Mardi Gras_ for all I care! I'm through, McGee! I'm finished! _**I'm fed up of being the laughing stock of NCIS for having protected the wrong woman!"**_

This time, Jet barked out loud: "Giiibz" was becoming way too aggressive!

"Jet! Sssh, calm down, everything's fine. C'mon, sit and leave Gibbs alone – you were a good dog this afternoon, buddy, so let's keep it this way."

The German shepherd obeyed at once and sat on the rug next to the armchair occupied by the ex-Marine, but he kept on looking at "Giiibz" rather suspiciously.

"God, Tim, **how could such a thing happen? **I could have sworn we were the best team NCIS has ever had within its ranks. We had Tony's street experience, Ziva's resourcefulness, Abby's talent at the lab and your genius with computers, not to forget Ducky and Palmer at the morgue. We had the best crime-solving rate eight years in a row; we fought terrorists, blood-thirsty murderers, psychopaths and drug dealers without feeling an ounce of fear; we saved hundreds of innocent lives. I thought I had achieved the impossible, namely creating a team where its members have each other's six regardless of differences in training and education. We were all friends, partners, brothers and sisters in arms and then, all of a sudden, the whole thing blows in my face without a warning shot, leaving me to pick up the pieces from collateral damages!"

Tim sighed deeply and pressed Ziva's hand in the gap between the couch's cushions. He was not eager to reveal the major flaw in Team Gibbs but his ex-Boss wanted answers and he would not leave the flat before he would get them.

"Gibbs… I can tell you what went wrong with your team, even if you'll hate me forever."

"I won't, Tim. I give you my word I'll never hate you for telling me the truth."

"Even if it implies criticizing your leadership?"

"Even so."

A discreet squeeze from Ziva's hand prompted Tim to take the plunge. He took a deep breath, locked his green gaze on Gibbs' sapphires, and said:

"There goes: contrary to what appears to be, we were never a team."

"What?"

"You've said earlier that Tony, Ziva and I were partners: **wrong**. Tony was officially partnered with Kate and he never missed an occasion to shout from the rooftops he was the best agent with the best partner, since it nursed his superiority complex. As for Kate, she was convinced being a woman was a sign of weakness that she did a Calamity Jane number from sunrise to sunset to prove she was a full-fledged agent – even if nobody doubted it in the first place. Both of them were happy to have a chew toy, namely me, to play with whenever the stress was too much to bear for their fragile nerves and once they were done, I had to go back to the shadows like a good, obedient and green-as-grass little Probie. This kind of treatment doesn't exactly develop partnership, Gibbs; I thought it was temporary but I was very naïve at the time, and could not imagine the hazing would never stop, not even if I considered Tony as a good agent and Kate as an heroine. They were partners and I was the lackey of the team, end of story."

Ziva shifted slightly on the couch at the mention of Kate Todd's name; she was still uncomfortable at the thought she had been able to join NCIS only because a woman had been murdered by her rogue half-brother. Team Gibbs was still in mourning when Ziva had arrived in DC and the only warm welcome she had gotten had been from Tim – and she had pushed him away, like the silly woman she used to be.

"After Kate was shot, I thought you would assign me as Tony's new partner and we'd finally achieve teamwork, where the silly banter and mean pranks would cease to make place for a real friendship. God knows our jobs are dangerous enough and I was getting tired of having to watch my back at crime scenes from killers and at the office for Tony's harmful jokes. I hoped against all odds that you would finally recognize the progresses I've made to become a field agent but it was not to happen, Boss. As soon as Ziva arrived, you partnered her with Tony regardless of the fact she had less experience than me and I was back to Square One, the Probie chained to his desk and ridiculed by your Golden Boy."

Ziva's discomfort increased at those words; it was true she had been glad to have been partnered with Tony right after starting to work at NCIS and it had not crossed her mind that she had taken Tim's rightful place – most probably because she did not consider McGee as a 'real' field agent at the time, an impression reinforced by Tony's sarcasms and Gibbs' indifference towards the computer tech. She had even joined the fun by invading Tim's flat along with Tony, laughing at the Senior Field Agent's pranks or holding a grudge against McGee about his series of books. It had taken the young woman many years and major improvements in her English skills to better understand the situation, namely that DiNozzo was a loudmouthed braggart, Abby a heifer (or was it a cow?) whereas quiet and intelligent McGee had to remain in a lowly position in order to not vex Tony or Abby. Ziva had been so ashamed of her callous attitude towards Tim that she had changed her ways, become friendlier towards him and it had ended with pure love. The young woman inwardly thanked her lucky stars for having granted her a second chance with the brilliant McGee.

"Tim, I… It was never my intention to chain you at your desk forever. I just wanted you to gain more experience as you were not ready," pleaded Gibbs.

"One doesn't gain _field_ experience by staying _inside_ a building, Gibbs," answered McGee firmly. "And the fact you pushed me away only increased Tony's riling to the maximum. Oh sure, you would send us both out to find suspects and investigate crime scenes, but it never stopped your surrogate son from talking my ears off about **his** superior skills and how I would never reach **his** level. Same thing with Abby, even though the situation was inversed: **I** was the one with the best scientific knowledge and she resented me for that, as she cannot stand the thought of being bested in anything. So I was caught between a rock and a hard place: on one hand, Tony belittling me because I wasn't good enough for him; on the other hand, Abby calumniating me because I was too good in sciences. Tony has stated loud and clear that Ziva was **his** partner and nobody else's – which may help to explain the tedious flirting game he played for way too long, plus the jealous number he made whenever she would date another man. In the end, history repeated itself: Tony and Ziva were partners and I was the lackey of the team, once again."

Tim's voice became as hard as steel as he carried on: "That's the major flaw of your team, Gibbs. You think all members are equal partners but you're **wrong**. Tony has never considered me as his partner, and never will – simply because you haven't instilled in your Golden Boy's mind the notion of _respect_, but then again you've never respected anyone in your life so you cannot teach what you ignore."

"McGee…"

"I've always felt as the odd man out, Gibbs – barely tolerated in your team for the computer knowledge I could provide you, but once the cases were solved you wouldn't even notice if I disappeared in a puff of sulfuric smoke. Abby says we're a family but that's a lousy joke, nothing else; Tony pretends his jokes are made out of big brotherly love but, like Miguel de Cervantes said: _"Jests that give pains are no jests"_. Every day I have to endure disrespect, insults, bullying, lack of teamwork, absence of solidarity, occasional betrayals and a complete indifference towards my health - not to forget the fact you're a firm believer in killing your staff to get good results, so SecNav wouldn't breathe down your neck for breaking NCIS' rules all day long."

"Tim, if you were miserable from Tony's pranks and Abby's manipulations, why didn't you tell me? If I were such a lousy leader, why didn't you fill up a complaint to the Director?" asked Gibbs, wishing this terrible day would finally end and he would be reunited with the peacefulness of his basement.

"Tony and Abby were under **your** protection. You were under **Director Sheppard's** protection. Do I need to go on?"

An awkward silence followed those words. Tim felt somehow relieved to have poured his heart out but one look at the ex-Marine made his anger decrease a few notches: Gibbs' blue eyes were clouded with sorrow; he was holding on his coffee mug as if it were a lifeline; and his whole posture – slumped shoulders, bowed head, avoided gaze – betrayed his sorrow for having been treated like a fool by an inconsiderate woman and having chased away his youngest son.

"I'm sorry, Tim. I'm sorry about Tony, Abby and every time I've wronged you. You may think it's the whisky talking, but I swear to God it's the truth."

"I know you're sincere, Gibbs. And I'm glad you came over to my house, even if I wish circumstances were better."

Gibbs blinked quickly to prevent annoying moisture from cumulating inside his eyelids.

"Really?"

"Yes. I haven't spoken earlier to make you feel guilty or criticize your leadership to death. I just wanted to point out the reasons why your team couldn't work in the first place; disrespect, callousness and playing-favorite cannot amount to anything good: "_Without feelings of respect, what is there to distinguish men from beasts?_"

"I've read that quote in the book your grandmother recommended to me."

"She has convinced you to read _The Analects_, then? That's Penny, all right!" said Tim with a slight chuckle, making Ziva smile at the thought her _ahouve_ was feeling a bit better.

"I should have listened to you, McGee. I should have told Tony, Kate and Ziva to shut the Hell up and listen to you, instead of letting my prejudices towards learned people to cloud my judgment. And I should have learned from you, instead of shooting at computers screens like an ordinary imbecile!"

"It's not too late, Gibbs. You and I can mend this riff between us; doubtless there will be many obstacles but we can succeed by both working hard on it."

"But how? Vance didn't say it out loud but my gut has been telling me for days that I'm not your Boss any longer. And you're too wise to remain in DC since Tony would disparage you for having left the best team of NCIS, so there's a good chance you'll leave for a better horizon."

"_A bluer horizon"_, thought Ziva.

"You guessed right; Ziva and I will be transferred within two weeks for a new job in a new state."

"So I'll never see you again?"

"Gibbs! There are modern means of communication available, you know: there are cell phones, e-mails, Skype…"

"I don't have a clue about how to use all this stuff!"

"Jimmy will be happy to help you in getting an Internet link and a laptop computer – provided you'll address him with respect instead of calling him a Gremlin to his face. Ducky has some experience with e-mails since he likes to exchange messages with his friends and relatives in England. And you could upgrade to a Smartphone and discover all the possibilities this marvelous gadget can provide you."

Gibbs rubbed at his face with both hands, already overwhelmed by the thought of having to surrender to the bane of his existence (technology) so he could communicate with his youngest and his beauteous girlfriend. The voice of reason started to tell him that he would not be in such trouble if he had deigned to learn how to use computers but the ex-Marine inwardly told the voice of reason to hit the road. And then, another thought crossed Gibb's mind and it shattered the tiny shard of hope he had gained during his conversation with McGee.

"Tim, it… This will never work."

"Why not?"

"Even if by miracle I find a way to wrap my head around all these gizmos, I wouldn't have enough time to send you a message because I'd probably be arrested and sent to jail before you'd start your new job. I unintentionally blew the whistle on you by calling Burt Butler and telling him to watch over you, remember? I'll have to answer from this breach of security inacceptable as a former Marine and a Federal Agent, and I already know the sanction will be… severe. Vance has not told me yet when the hearing with the congressional committee will take place, but at best I'll stay at Guantanamo, at worse I'll be shot as a traitor…"

Tim's eyes flashed like twin emeralds and he slammed his mug on the end table before resting his hand on Gibbs' knee and said: **"No."**

"What do you mean?" asked the Team Leader.

"Exactly what I've said: NO. No hearing, no committee, no trial, no sentence, and no Gitmo!"

"But…"

"I'm still angry at you for having called Butler and for the death of my friends, especially one, but I refuse to see your name dragged in the mud for a stupid goof you've made. You have served your country honorably since your teenage years; you've had your share of hardships with your family being gunned down by the Reynosa cartel. And you've made a good job at NCIS in spite of being a lousy Boss by putting behind bars some vicious criminals. In spite of everything that had happened, did you really believe I would stay and watch you being destroyed in a committee, just for revenge? Do you honestly think I'm that shallow?"

"No! Good grief, no! You're the most altruistic person I've ever met, Tim."

"Then, hear me out: **I've asked Director Vance and General Stephenson to not press charges against you, and they both agreed to grant me this favor.** Officially, the attack has been launched by a traitor, a certain Sergeant Kenneth Miller who has tipped off terrorists about a convoy of American soldiers and he will answer for it. After my departure from Afghanistan, General Stephenson gave me updates about Miller and his trial will start soon – his, not yours. He'll probably try to play the sympathy card by moaning about the mutilation I've inflicted him but Stephenson says it would not impress the committee at all. Miller will be sent away, in Gitmo or in another maximum-security prison where he'll learn that his stripes don't mean a lot in front of hardened criminals and psychopaths. Miller will rue the day he has ever laid his eyes on my friend, believe me!"

"And Vance?"

"He grumbled and complained about me driving him crazy just for show, but in the end he relented – he likes you too, even if you keep on pushing people away with this badass attitude of yours. And it would look strange that one NCIS agent should be awarded while his Boss was hauled away on the grounds of treason. Vance cannot promise you'll lead another team, though, so there's good chance you'll have to do clerical work before you'd retire with a healthy pension. If you want to quit now, Vance will make sure your retirement pension will be paid in full and you will have all the needed time to do woodworking."

Gibbs stared in amazement at his Tim, his baby, the lion-heart he had no deigned to encourage or understand. McGee would have all the rights in the world to ask for his head, since it was Gibbs' phone call to Butler that had provoked a series of catastrophes culminating in the death of Tim's girlfriend and his capture by the Taliban. And yet, and yet… Tim's heart had spoken again. In spite of the major grudge he bore to his former Boss, McGee could not bring himself to sit back and watch the ex-Marine being torn in shreds and imprisoned. So he had asked Vance and Stephenson to brush Gibbs' imprudence under the carpet and the two men had granted him this favor out of affection towards the computer tech who had worked so hard for his country.

"Oh, Tim… Tim! I don't know what to say," whispered Gibbs, his eyes shining in gratitude. His relief was so huge it felt as if an elephant had been lifted off his shoulders; he won't be dragged to court; his career won't end in the utmost disgrace; he would not have to say farewell to his father. He was forgiven for his imprudence!

Tim and Ziva exchanged a smile, and then the young woman leaned over and whispered in McGee's ear: "You are the best man in the whole world, _ahouve_. I'm so proud of you!"

A gentle kiss followed those gentle words, and then Tim turned his attention back to the silver-haired man.

"We still have a long way to go, Gibbs but like I've said, you did the right thing by _apologizing_ even if you loathe doing so but overcoming a prejudice is a sign of maturity. To quote Cervantes again, _"Let's give time to time"_ and regardless of how long it will take, in the end we'll be able to talk to each other like responsible adults instead of a playing-favorite tyrant yelling at his court's Jester."

Overwhelmed, Gibbs gathered Tim in his arms and crushed the young man against his chest, too moved to express his gratitude with words. Tim, his Tim, had given him his life back and, even though the older man did not think he deserved such a favor, he would seize this second chance and cherish it until the day of his death. To think he had refused to acknowledge Tim's worth… To think he had favored a lying, manipulative woman over that genius with the big heart and the ten-ton brains! Fool, fool, triple fool!

Tim returned the embrace, happy to have launched the first step towards reconciliation with his former Boss. It would be a long, uneasy process with Aimee's ghost still lurking in McGee's heart and years of abuse and neglect from the ex-Marine: there will be fights, tears, therapy sessions, arguments, apologies, good days, bad days but at least neither Tim nor Gibbs would not have to live in resentment for the rest of their days.

Ziva smiled at the sight of the two men hugging and she rose to join them, when her mobile phone started to vibrate on the coffee table, the notification of an incoming call.

The ex-Mossad grimaced at the sight of the named displayed on the screen: it was Tony.

TBC…


	100. A castigation

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- To all my marvelous readers and reviewers: hope you had a great Christmas!

- Tony-fans may want to skip this chapter.

_- Christine_ is a 1983 American horror thriller film directed by John Carpenter, based on the novel by Stephen King.

- The _Big Bad Wolf_ is a fictional character from Walt Disney's animation _Three Little Pigs_ (1933).

- Halley's Comet is visible from Earth every 75–76 years. It is named after English astronomer Edmond Halley (1656-1742).

- The Dynamic Duo refers to the partnership between Batman and Robin (from Wikipedia).

- To Momcat: _encore merci_ for the nice comments, _c'est trop gentil_! Tim is certainly a bigger man than his Boss and Tony, but 'forgiving' is not a synonym for 'forgetting' and Gibbs will have a long way to go before Tim will trust him again in treating him like a human being instead of a punching ball.

- To Jeika: I'm glad you liked the Christmas present XD and I hope this new chapter will please you as well.

- To MarkyV: thank you for your review!

- To None: remember, this is the first step of a reconciliation between Tim and Gibbs: it will take a lot more before Tim can completely forgive Gibbs for his indiscretion.

- To Tony: Gibbs asked for forgiveness and he will get it in time; Tony would never do it, since he's convinced of being 'always right' so I doubt Tim will ever forgive him one day.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 99: A castigation<strong>

_In Tim's living-room…_

Ziva inwardly cursed Anthony DiNozzo for his ill-timing: he had to call precisely at the very moment when Gibbs and Tim were finally reaching an understanding. Then again, he had a snack (or was it a knack?) for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, or to show up in places where his presence was not required – like an ox in a porcelain shop! If someone reproached Tony his impoliteness and blunders he would reply that, as Senior Agent, he was entitled to stick his long nose into everyone else's business and make ridiculous jokes about their personal lives afterwards: he was Gibbs' son and heir, his _protégé_ and as long as he benefitted from the ex-Marine's protection, Tony was untouchable… A pretentious attitude that painfully reminded Ziva of Abby.

The souvenir of the Lab Rat breaking and entering Tim's flat to steal his dog made Ziva look at her cell phone with a stern expression on her face. There were traces of Abby's passage everywhere – damaged lock on the front door, overturned chairs, upset trinkets and dirty marks on the floor, a testimony of the fight between meddlesome Abby and loyal Jet just before the police came. In spite of Tim's words of appeasement, the ex-Mossad still felt the urge to have a little explanation with the crybaby – of course, she could not promise the police station would still stand after she was finished with Abby, but at least it would be very satisfying! And yet, Ziva knew her _ahouve_ was right: destroying the Goth woman would bring more trouble than it was worth. Director Vance would not be happy and could even change his mind about granting Ziva a transfer to Los Angeles; Ducky would not approve of her actions after having succeeded in convincing Tim and Ziva to confess their love for each other; Gibbs would forget his good intentions towards McGee in a snap, after learning his surrogate daughter had been cut to ribbons by an enraged Israeli woman. And the 'incident' could even plead in Abby's favor in court, just like Tim had pointed out a moment ago. So, bottom line, Ziva had to leave Abby alone and find other ways to release the pressure.

For an instant, Ziva considered using Tony as a punching-ball but voted against it: the man was simply impossible and she would end up more crossed after having hitting him than before!

The mobile phone was still vibrating so the ex-Mossad grabbed it on the end table and walked to the bedroom, in the hopes Gibbs and Tim would not hear her conversation with Tony: the men were still embracing and Ziva did not want to spoil their moment. Jet got on his feet and followed the young woman.

She clicked on the green button, and said with an exasperated sight:

"Yes, Tony?"

"_Hey, Ziver! What on Earth is going on? Why didn't you answer your phone at once? Don't you remember Gibbs' rule about never being unreachable? As Senior Agent…"_

"Shut up about Gibbs' rules and shut up about your title, Tony!"

A few stunned seconds followed Ziva's words, and then Tony asked in a shocked voice:

"_Are you out of your mind, Ziver?"_

"Last time I've checked, I'm very much inside my mind; thank you for asking."

"_But… Have you heard what you've just said to your immediate superior and about your Team Leader? That _insubordination_, Ziver, and Gibbs could have your badge for that."_

"Just like he could have had _your_ badge for having lied to McGee at the MTAC room, for example?"

"_Aw, sheesh, Ziva! That was centuries ago."_

"Yeah, and you've already forgot all about it since it was 'only' McGee you had tricked, after all. We wouldn't have heard the end of it if McGee had lied to you!"

"_That's enough!"_ cut Tony's voice. He did not like the way this conversation was getting so he employed his usual ruse: changing the subject._ "Besides, where are you? Where has everyone gone? First Gibbs gets a phone call about Abby and flies out of the bullpen like a bullet without telling me anything, and then you grab your backpack and leave for hours so I have to stay at the bullpen like McDummy glued to his keyboard!"_

Ziva gritted her teeth at this blatant disrespect towards her beloved; the nerve of Tony, disparaging Tim after all he went through in Afghanistan!

"So, you don't know what happened?"

"_How could I? I've been calling Gibbs every five minutes since his departure and I left about thirty messages on his voicemail, but he hasn't returned my calls yet! Same thing for you!"_

"Well, let me enlighten you, Tony: McGee was attending to an event at the White House this afternoon and, during his absence, Abby broke into his flat."

A series of snickers was heard in the mobile phone: apparently, the Senior Agent thought it a very funny joke.

"_Ha ha ha! That was a good one, Ziver. Who knew you had such a great sense of humor?"_

"Do I look like the kind to invent stupid stories, Tony?" asked the ex-Mossad with an Arctic voice, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop a few degrees.

"_What? But…"_

"I wasn't joking, Tony: Abby wanted to steal Jet from Tim but the dog raised the alarm and..."

"_So you mean she tried to grab the McMutt and failed – well, that's no big deal!_" interrupted Tony._ "Probie always makes the biggest fuss over the littlest things but it's still funny, in a way: the McFlat has been burglarized twice by Nick Miller, once by Abby, and 'visited' a few times by yours truly. The place must have been jinxed during its construction, just like the car in the assembly line in the '_Christine'_ movie. Probie should have taken care of choosing a safer place to live, instead of parading throughout NCIS that he's above our lot!"_

"**HE NEVER SAID THAT! AND YOU'D BETTER KEEP YOUR COMMENTS TO YOURSELF IF YOU WANT TO KEEP YOUR TEETH INTACT!"** roared Ziva, reaching the end of her patience with her insufferable teammate.

Jet snorted in approval.

"_Whoa! Calm down, Ninja Girl,"_ said Tony, immediately backing down. He knew Ziva never made idle threats and for some unknown reason she had been pretty protective of McGee lately. _"It was nothing but a little joke, okay? And I still want to know what is going on, since I can see Gibbs' car and yours in McGee's parking lot, and Abby's piece of junk__ is parked in the street__."_

"You WHAT? How do you know we're at Tim's place?"

"_Geesh, Ziva, I'm an investigator with years of experience in the police, remember? As soon as Gibbs left the building, I've tracked down his car with the GPS system and he stayed for about half an hour at the Rhode Island Avenue police station before heading for the McFlat. You went to Probie's straight away, without even bothering to go to Rhode Island Avenue – and before you start threatening me with multiples fractures, let me remind you that I had no choice: you both weren't answering your phones and I sure as heck wasn't going to knock on Vance's door to get information!"_

"Yes, well, the situation's under control so you can head back to NCIS and wait for Gibbs' call."

"_Are you crazy? Going back to headquarters without getting an explanation? That's not the style of Anthony DiNozzo Jr., the best Agent of NCIS, Ninja Girl! Besides, I'm already in the lobby of the McBuilding so I might as well take the lift and go to Probie's flat to join the fun."_

"Tony, NO! There's no need for you to come; and there's no fun in an attempted robbery." To think Ziva had thought the Senior Agent funny in the past… She clearly did not have her head screwed on right at the time!

"_Quite the contrary, it's hilarious! I don't know what went through Abby's mind to try and grab the fleabag and she got hauled at the station just like during the stunt she pulled at Langdon Park, but she's probably throwing a tantrum about being prevented to hug that poor doggie and Gibbs must be dragging McBigHead over the hot coals for having upsetting his Princess. Man, it's gonna be good! Please tell the Boss to wait for me; I don't wanna miss the show!"_

"Tony, I'm telling you…"

"_Sorry, Ziver, but I'm in the lift and the connection will be soon cut off. See ya later…."_ and then the line went dead.

Ziva considered her phone as if she wanted to smash it against a wall. Tony, that stupid jerk! Not only had he not listened to a word she was saying, not only had he jumped to the wrong conclusions, but he was heading towards Tim's flat with the intention of enjoying the sight of her _lève chèl ariyé_(lion-heart) being blamed by Gibbs for Abby's latest stunt! Oh, but she won't stand of it; nobody would make fun of her special man, not while she could still draw breath and throw her blades. The Lab Rat may be out of her reach, but Tony was not and she would not mind using his posterior as a target!

Jet let out an interrogative whine, and at the same moment Tim asked from the living-room: "Who was it, _motèke chély_ (my darling)?"

Ziva absently petted Jet on the head and returned to the living-room with the dog at her heels. Gibbs and Tim had ended their embrace and Ziva noted the medal case, formerly set on the coffee table, had been moved to rest on the Team Leader's lap. Apparently, Gibbs had been puzzled about the case and Tim had showed him the Presidential Medal of Freedom that had been granted to him only a few hours ago.

Gibbs' blue eyes were still shining with pride when he turned his head towards the ex-Mossad, and both men looked at Ziva with the same attentive expression on their faces.

"It was Tony," answered the young woman to Tim's earlier question.

"What does **he** want?" asked McGee, his voice as hard as steel as he remembered the disparaging comments the Senior Agent had made about Aimee until the Dark Dove had cut his vulgarity short.

"He's on his way – in fact, he's in the elevator as we speak. He got worried about us leaving NCIS with barely a word of explanation so he tracked our vehicles via GPS to the police station, and then to your flat. Since Abby's car is parked nearby, he jumped to the conclusion that we were all at your place and he wants to join the 'party', as he calls it."

"Didn't you tell him about Abby?" asked Gibbs.

"I've tried to!" protested the young woman. "I started telling him about her attempt at snatching Jet away but Tony interrupted me; he wrongly thinks Abby is with us crying her eyes out after having done a little detour at the police station and you are blaming Tim for the whole matter, and Tony is looking forward to _"enjoy the show"_, as he says."

"He'd enjoy watching Tim being told off?" asked a frowning silver-haired man.

"Certainly. God knows, he was gleeful when Vance scolded me in public for not having volunteered for the mission in Iraq," answered Tim somberly.

Gibbs' frown increased at those words; he had been shocked to the core learning about Tony's treachery but he had hoped Tim would have dealt with this the Marine's way – face to face, man to man, on the boxing ring and with the two of them wearing gloves. But McGee had not uttered a word about it, not even after Tony had given him an insulting present after his return from Iraq and his silence had puzzled the Team Leader for a while, until he had reached the erroneous conclusion that McGee was still "too soft" and needed to remain in the background.

The silver-haired man inwardly called himself the all-time King of Idiots. Of course, Tim would not have complained about the backstabbing from the Senior Agent! To whom could he have complained, anyway? Gibbs would not have believed him in the first place and he would have head-slapped the computer tech before telling him to go back to work. Abby would have accused Tim of disparaging Tony out of pure jealousy. As for Jenny Sheppard, she would probably have seized the occasion to fire Tim: she had made it clear from the start that she did not think much of McGee so getting rid of him would do Gibbs a favor…. In the hopes she would get a chance to re-kindle the flame between her and the ex-Marine.

Gibbs shuddered as he remembered Tim's earlier words: _"__Tony and Abby were under your protection. You were under Director Sheppard's protection. Do I need to go on?"_

Well, the Team Leader was going to grant to Timothy McGee the same protection he had foolishly given to Abby Sciuto!

A faint 'ding' was heard from the far side of the hallway and Jet growled slightly at the sound of the lift's doors opening. The dog had smelt another human coming towards their shared territory real fast and the results did not please him: it was a tall one, male, carrying a firearm (there was a faint whiff of gunpowder in the air) and approaching with long strides. The German shepherd growled even louder as he recognized the visitor, someone he had not seen in ages: it was "To-nee", the irritating human who had went once or twice to the place-looking-like-at-the-vet's when Jet had been kept in with the unwelcome company of "A-bee".

The German shepherd had not thought much of "To-nee" during his stay but he had quickly understood he was no friend of "Teem" – his master had come home more than once looking exhausted, and told Jet in harsh tones about "To-nee" and his "bad treeks". Jet was quite aware of what a "treek" was (like finding a ball in a jungle of high weeds or catching a flying disk in mid-air at the park) but with "To-nee", a "treek" was harmful because it was always a "bad" one and the dog knew what the word "bad" meant: it signified danger or discontentment for his favorite human and he did not like that at all.

Jet had no real idea what were the "bad treeks" that "To-nee" had done to "Teem"; it could have been rivalry over food, water or a female but the dog did not care about details. He could feel behind his back the growing anger emanating from "Teem", "Zee-va" and even the white-furred one called "Giiibz" so it up to Jet to make the intruder go away!

Tony, as usual, was high on his showboat as he approached the front door, left ajar, of Tim's flat. The sight of the damaged lock increased his mirth; Ziva had not lied, there had been a break-in, all right – well, it was a godsend: it would bring Probie down from his high-and-mighty horse! McGee had gained an attitude during his vacation in Afghanistan and: in fact, he was acting as if he could surpass the Senior Agent and it had not pleased Tony at all!

For the past ten years, DiNozzo had lived with a unique goal in mind: to become Gibbs' rightful successor. He had gained the title of Senior Field Agent by working hard under the ex-Marine's supervision but also by using his street experience, his good looks and infallible charm with the ladies, plus his vast knowledge in combat, making him the best Agent of NCIS. Gibbs had said so during that case when Tony and Ziva had protected a government's witness in a flight back from Paris, and the witness' fiancé had hired a female assassin to prevent his sweetheart from testifying out of fear she could indirectly implicate him. The Boss had said to Director Vance, as clear as day: _"Our best Agent's with her"_, referring to DiNozzo protecting the witness. Since that day, Tony's ego had reached the stratosphere to never be pulled back on Earth again!

DiNozzo had been certain his future as Team Leader was assured but alas, there had been a few turbulences recently: Probie leaving for Afghanistan after having called Tony a liar to his face; those awful review board sessions; Gibbs and Ziva leaving for Kabul without telling him; McGee throwing a dark knife in his office chair! It sure had shook Tony's oversized cockiness but the worst had been when Gibbs had announced his intention to resign out of tiredness from watching his subordinates tear each other apart. A panicked DiNozzo had thought his career was over, but thankfully the Boss had not raised the subject again so it could only mean Gibbs had changed his mind. After all, he could not leave his surrogate son, his favorite and his adopted niece behind, could he? Gibbs had tried to retire in Mexico once and it had ended in catastrophe, so one would have thought the Boss had earned his lesson.

As for Abby's breaking in to take Jet, it was probably nothing more than another whim from the Lab Rat and Probie must have jumped on the gun by calling the police, thus earning the Boss' never-ending-wrath. Computer genius or not, highly-praised creator of an electronic thingie or not, McGee remained a clumsy probationer and he would stay like this for the rest of his days, as it had not been wise from him to cross Gibbs over adored Abby. Doubtless the ex-Marine had retrieved both Abby and Probie from the police station and was giving the computer tech the thrashing of his life for having complained about the Goth woman. This was going to be good!

Tony did not even bother to knock: he pushed the front door wide open and called:

"Hey, Probie! Are you still alive? Boy, you oughta have known better than..."

A loud bark cut DiNozzo's riling short and he found himself facing a very angry, very huge and very menacing German shepherd, his teeth bared and his fur of his neck raised, his whole body in an attack position. Jet was getting fed up by all those humans who thought they could invade his shared territory with full impunity: first "A-Bee", then the two males in blue "clo-zes", then "Giiibz" and now "To-nee" had the nerve to walk around as if he owned the place? Well, that human was going to realize his mistake real soon, just like "A-Bee" did after Jet had bitten her on the posterior!

"Er... Hey, McPooch, calm down, it's me! Tony, remember? I'm a friend of Probie, so cool it. Now there's no need to make your Big Bad Wolf act, I know you're a softie just like your owner. So how about making some air so I can assess the damages that Gibbs had done to Probie?"

Jet's only answer was another loud barking; "To-nee" was trying to force his way in, heh? All right, he was asking for it!

"Jet! Come back here!" ordered the voice of his favorite human from inside the flat. The German shepherd casted a dirty look to "To-nee" and made an about-turn before running back to the living-room: "Teem" wanted Jet to be close to him – maybe he was worried about "Zee-va", so he wanted his dog to protect her? Seemed logical, since "Zee-va" was his master's mate and a potential producer of younglings!

The dog quickly placed himself near the couch, next to his favorite human and his new mistress. "To-nee" entered the flat and it crossed Jet to no end, but orders were orders and he knew he had to wait until "Teem" would tell him to take a big chunk out of the new intruder's posterior.

"Whoa! You had me worried for a second, McMutt," said Tony while hastily plastering a million-dollar smile on his face. "For a second, I thought you'd be dumb enough to attack me, the best Agent of NCIS!"

"Jet is **not** dumb and it'll be a cold day in Hell before you will be nominated the best in anything, DiNozzo," said Tim sternly.

Tony's ego roared in outrage at McGee's words: **he** was not the best? He, the great Anthony DiNozzo Junior, adopted son of Gibbs and all-around Superstar of NCIS? Probie really needed to be put back in his place! Then, the Senior Agent glanced around and saw the team was already there: Gibbs was sitting on an armchair with a flat, rectangular-shaped wooden case in his hands and looking daggers at Tony; Ziva was seated on the couch next to Tim, her elfin face carved in stone and her eyes shining with anger. But strangely, Probie did not look any worse for wear – in fact, his face was intact, as if Gibbs had not started to massacre him yet and there was no sign of Abby.

"Er... Hi, Boss!"

"What are you doing here, DiNozzo? Last I recall, I didn't ask you to come so go back to the bullpen!"

His mentor's cold tone surprised Tony: even in his best bad moods, Gibbs had always appreciated his Senior Agent's initiatives in the past since he was street-smart and more experienced than his teammates. But the Boss looked like he resented Tony's presence at McGee's flat and he had almost told him to get lost, which was incredible: this kind of treatment was exclusively reserved to Jimmy, when the Autopsy Gremlin was rightfully told to make room for the Big Boys!

"But, Boss! You left NCIS without telling me anything so I tracked down your car and Ninja Girl's first down to a police station, next to Probie's building and then Ziva finally answered my call and told me about Abby breaking into the McDump to grab the McMutt, and you went to a police station before coming here so I thought I ought to come over and see for myself how you were dealing with the situation... Where's Abby, by the way? Is she in the bathroom fixing her make-up after bawling her eyes out?"

"Abby's not here," answered Gibbs.

This laconic statement made Tony frown; he was certain the GPS tracker had indicated only two addresses: the Rhode Island Avenue police station and McGee's, and Gibbs would not have enough time to drive Abby home or back at the Forensics Lab before telling the Probie off.

"Whaddaya mean, she's not here?"

"Exactly what I've said, DiNozzo: Abby. Is. Not. Here."

"Then, where is she?"

"She's still at the police station, cooling her 'eels' in a holding cell," said Ziva.

Tony made the gesture to sit down on a vacant chair but a warning snarl from Jet (plus a snapping of jaws for good measure) stopped him in doing so: the dog was not eager to let the unwanted guest to make himself at territory!

"Hey! Tell your fleabag to leave me alone, Probie!"

"Insult my dog once more, DiNozzo, and I will use the dark knife – the one you've had a close encounter with, remember?"

Tony's smile faltered a bit; he certainly had a vivid memory of that dangerous blade stuck in the cushion of his office chair, at about an inch of distance to his crotch! He had filed up two forms to get a new chair but both demands had been rejected by the ladies in Accounting – a reprisal for his lies about McGee's sexuality…

"Well, tell your dog to let me sit, then!"

"I won't, since I am not inviting you to take a seat, DiNozzo. In case it has escaped your brilliant brains, **you are not welcome in my home**. Jet gets nervous in your presence and so do I, do you hear?"

Tim's firm tone and the mention of the Dark Dove made Tony lost his composure for an instant, and then his natural-born brashness took over: Probie would never try to do something against him, not in the Boss' presence and the dark knife was nowhere in sight so it could only mean McGee was bluffing, overestimating the muscles he had gained abroad.

"Oh all right, McDiva! I had no intention in staying long in your tasteless hovel, anyway – but I sure wanna know what's going on, as I'm getting tired of being the last one to be informed! I have a right to know; I'm Senior Agent! And what's that nonsense about Abby still being at the police station?"

"It's exactly what it means, Tony: Abby is in a holding cell from having being caught on the act of breaking into Tim's flat and trying to steal his dog," answered Ziva.

"**WHAT?** Then what are you doing here, Boss? Why are you sitting here having a tea party instead of posting bail at the speed of light so Abby can get out of jail?" exclaimed a genuinely surprised Senior Agent.

"Because I have no intention of bailing Abby out, Tony: she has been caught red-handed and she will answer for her actions in front of a judge, at the courthouse, during the hearing scheduled for tomorrow afternoon."

Tony was stunned to silence for a few minutes; Gibbs was refusing to come to Abby's aid? He left her in a police station filled with the scum of the Earth? Instead of scaring the living daylights of law enforcement officers, he was staying at McGee's place? Had the world gone mad, all of a sudden?

"GIBBS? How can you say that? It's Abby we're talking about, for God's sake!"

"I'm quite aware we're talking about her, DiNozzo."

"Then wake up and smell the real coffee, Boss! We havta get Abby out of the slammer before she starts a riot there – and discreetly, otherwise Vance will have her hide!" said Tony, shocked to the soul by his mentor's sudden refusal to help the Lab Rat.

"Vance already knows about Abby; he came to the station and told her, in no uncertain terms, that she was fired from NCIS. He has enough of her blatant lies, lack of respect and for all the tantrums she made in the bullpen, like a spoiled two-year-old!"

"Fired? Abby? That can't be! Vance cannot fire Abby!"

"He can and it's a done deal."

"And… You let Vance fire her, just like that?" asked Tony, staggering a bit from this astonishing news.

"How can you ask such a dumb question, DiNozzo? I don't have any authority over Vance; he's Director of NCIS, meaning he has the power to hire or to fire whoever he wants."

"But I thought you'd rather go on a murdering rampage before you'd let anyone do anything to Abby!" exclaimed the Senior Agent.

"That used to be true – before I finally opened my eyes and saw the consequences of my favoritism towards Abby on our team. Besides, after what she told me down at the station I couldn't – no, scratch that, I _wouldn't_ have helped Abby."

"Why not?"

"She has refused to obey my orders to leave McGee alone. She trespassed on a private property and she wanted to cause prejudice to Tim by stealing his dog, but I'm ready to bet she had a mind to destroy the rest of his belongings for having been a _"Bad McGee"_ to her. Oh and also, she used blackmail, firstly by trying to implicate you in her attempted burglary."

"This is crazy! How in the world did she imagine I would be blamed for her breaking and entering the McSlum? I was at the bullpen all day, working my a** off protecting our country!"

"Quite easily, DiNozzo: she used **your** lock-picking tools to force McGee's door, the same ones in the drawer **you** left wide open like a fool with **your** fingerprints all over them since you've never bothered to wipe them down. Abby's first intention had been to use your tools and put them back to place once the deed was done but in case all Hell broke loose, she would have had a perfect back-up plan: denying all responsibilities and putting the blame on a scapegoat. You were in danger to be arrested after the cops would have identified your fingerprints in tools used to commit a felony and Abby knew I wouldn't have stood for it. Bottom line, she used you as leverage to prompt me to bail her out faster."

Tony rubbed a hand over his eyes in a vain attempt to clear his thoughts; this was lunacy, simply lunacy!

"But why did Abby wanted to implicate me in her burglary? **Me**, Very Special Senior Agent DiNozzo, of all people! I've never done anything to her – she has always considered me as her big brother! I've helped her in getting out of tight spots more than once; I've never criticized her appearance and I've even turned a blind eye whenever she... er..."

"Whenever she framed me for her disobediences, leaving me getting punished in her stead while she was acting all innocent in front of everyone," completed Tim, his emeralds locked on the Senior Agent. Ziva slipped her hand inside McGee's in a gesture of support.

Gibbs turned his iceberg-like eyes to the Senior Agent: "So you played a part in this too, DiNozzo?"

"Oh, come on, Boss! It's no big deal – getting punished _in lieu_ of others is all part of the package of being a Probie!"

"Oh, really? That's strange; I don't remember it as part of my training when **I** was a probationer," said Ziva with a dangerous voice.

"Neither was it for me when I was under Mike Franks' tutelage, nor for you when you started working for NCIS, DiNozzo," completed the Team Leader. "In fact, only McGee had to suffer being framed by his teammates. As you know, I hate lies and yet Abby told tall stories to my face for years, without you even trying to step up and tell the truth. I've punished McGee for things he was completely innocent of and, instead of having your partner's six, you sat on your arse laughing your head off!"

"**HEY! I WON'T TAKE THE BLAME FOR ABBY'S LIES!"** protested Tony, getting increasingly worried at the thought he was going to lose Gibbs' protection, just like the Goth woman. "She's your Princess, your darling favorite, the one who has replaced Kelly in your heart! She can't do anything wrong; she has to be protected; she's never to be blamed for anything because she's so fragile under that those Goth rags, a little lamb with tattoos! You have proved more times than I can count that you'd blow the whole NCIS building apart if anyone dared to make a comment about Abby – and you wonder why I've never told you about her getting out of trouble by blaming Probie? Well, for your information, I may be cocky but I ain't suicidal!"

Gibbs clenched his jaw at those words, but the worst was yet to come after Tony added:

"And what did you mean by I didn't have my partner's six? McGee was never my partner; Ziva is!"

The silver-haired man threw the medal case back on the coffee table and jumped on his feet with the firm intention to head-slap his Senior Agent until he would see Halley's Comet under his eyelids, but the memory of Tim's earlier words came back to his mind: _"__You partnered Ziva with Tony regardless of the fact she had less experience than me and I was the Probie again, chained to his desk and ridiculed by your Golden Boy."_

Gosh, Tim had been right all along. How could Tony ever consider McGee as his equal after the Team Leader had so blatantly favored the ex-Mossad officer? It had only reinforced Tony's opinion that McGee would never be _"good enough" _to be his partner since Gibbs had chosen a woman (who murdered the English language) to fulfill this role. Ziva had unintentionally piped Tim at the post and the computer tech had endured this downgrading without uttering a word of protest, otherwise he would have been fired on the spot by his blind-and-deaf Boss.

"Rule 51, Tony: _"Sometimes, you're wrong"_. I've made a huge mistake in failing to drill inside your minds that **you were all partners**, regardless of differences in past experiences. McGee was **your** partner as much as Ziva's, just like you were **his** partner and Ziva was **McGee's** and **yours'**."

"What? But, Boss... That's unreasonable! McGee cannot be considered as my partner!"

"And why not, pray tell?"

"Because... He's only a Probie!"

"He has stopped being a probationer a long time ago, DiNozzo – in fact, probationary period lasts only for eighteen months. Are you actually that dense you haven't noticed the man you've worked with for eight years is no longer a newbie?"

"Give me a break, Boss! McGee may have gained a bit more muscles and self-confidence abroad but he'll always be the Probie – or, should I say, the dupe who falls into the biggest traps and then types stupid novels to tell the whole world what horrible co-workers he has. He should have the caption _"Incurable greenie, thieves and psychos can apply"_ tattooed on his forehead, after the fantastic fiascos he has done with women or on the job, including during his stay in Afghanistan. He almost had you killed once, remember? You were damn lucky only your arm was broken, Boss! And now you're telling me I should entrust my safety out in the field to the undefeated champion of naiveté? Nothing doing! I don't get partnered with chumps; I'm Senior Agent and I deserve the best partner, simply as a matter of self-preservation. I wouldn't give two cents for my life if I were partnered with Probie full-time!"

_**TWACK!**_

Jet barked in approval at the head-slap. Tim put his hand on the dog's head to keep his pet calm.

"Ow! Sheesh…."

"This is the most revolting thing I've heard coming from you, DiNozzo. It doesn't say much of the work you've done with McGee!" said Gibbs, his hand hurting like crazy from the blow he has just delivered to the thick-skulled Senior Agent.

"No, it doesn't. But the head-slap was unnecessary, Boss," intervened Tim. "I don't mind Tony's insults half as much as his opinion of me."

"Yes, but **I** mind!" said Ziva, her whole being shaking with barely-restrained fury. "You're a _tipèche_ (imbecile), Tony!"

"Ziva, _néhédérète chély _(my magnificent)! Please don't lower yourself at his level, he's not worth it."

"But **you** are worth it, _ahava chély_ (my love) and I'm getting sick and tired of Tony's attitude. Maybe I should cut his tongue out so we won't have to listen to his stupidities?"

"Whoa, sheathe your claws, Ninja Girl!" exclaimed the Senior Agent as he rubbed his aching skull. He was quite found of his silver-tongue and he certainly was not looking forward to spend the rest of his career as the Mute Agent doomed to fill up paperwork instead of the best Team Leader of NCIS after Gibbs!

And then, Tony realized Tim and Ziva were seated real close to each other on the couch, holding hands, with the mutt between them as if the animal was protecting the couple. And they were talking in a foreign language, as if they were using a secret code so other people could not understand what they were saying... Once again, clarity of mind came too late inside Tony's brains after it had been clouded by its usual fog of bravado, denigration and lousy humor. His reason sighed at him inside his skull, saying he was a hopeless case and it was clear Tony would never learn to use his eyes first and his mouth last.

_What? No. No, it could not be…_

Tim exchanged a glance with Gibbs, who nodded in silent approval. The cat was already out of the bag so it was useless to hide the love he shared with Ziva: Vance knew about it, Gibbs had found out recently so it was a matter of time before Tony would finally realize the sentiments between the computer tech and the ex-Mossad.

"Yes, Tony. Ziva and I are in love."

"WHAT?" shouted DiNozzo, utterly floored by the revelation.

"We are in love, and soon we will leave DC for another NCIS office. Director Vance has approved our transfer; within a few weeks, Ziva and I will no longer work for Team Gibbs."

Tony's reason was kicked back to the background as the Senior Agent felt his usual muses – jealousy, insecurity and disparagement – filling his mind with angry retorts. This was the last straw! Probie's arrogance had gone too far! He would not allow McGee to make a mockery of his authority as Senior Agent!

"**HOW DARE YOU, PROBIE?"**

"Begging your pardon?"

"**How dare you pretend to be in a relationship with Ziva?"**

"I don't pretend. We **are**," answered Tim with a smile while tightening his hold on Ziva's hand to prevent the young woman from strangling DiNozzo.

"You're lying! Ziva, falling for you? Ziva, your girlfriend? Not in a million years! She's too tough for a wimp like you! She's a real woman, not a psycho or a thief like your previous attempts at dating that failed miserably. She's a professional, an Agent to the end of her fingernails and she fears nothing, unlike you who goes green whenever you step foot on a boat. She worked for Mossad and she saw the worst atrocities; she didn't even crack under the tortures of that bastard Saleem – how's that for courage? And now you're saying she would go all mushy over a goody-two-shoe like you?"

"That's it! This time I'll turn you into dog meat!" said Ziva, jumping on her feet before Tim could stop her.

"**DiNozzo! Shut up and get out of here!"** roared Gibbs, fearing another scene of destruction just like the one that occurred at the morgue, months ago.

"Boss, can't you see what Probie's done?" said the Senior Agent, looking for support from the silver-haired man. "He broke Rule no. 12 and he is boasting about it right in front of you. Some cheek!"

"McGee's love life is none of your business and Rule no. 12 is stupid; I should've broken my right arm the day I enacted it but I was a selfish jerk! I tried to prevent romances from blooming between my subordinates because I was worried it would create distractions, and so you'd be less concentrated on the job and I wouldn't have the best team of NCIS – but getting in relationships in part of human nature and nobody can repress it, not even Gibbs the Almighty! I live alone but it doesn't allow me to force celibacy on others but I was pretentious enough to believe I could impose my ways of living on you. Besides, Tim and Ziva won't work for me any longer so they don't have to follow my silly rules."

"What? You're letting Ziva go with Probie?"

"It could be hazardous to my health if I ever tried to separate these two lovebirds," replied the silver-haired man, and Ziva inwardly approved, curling her fists.

"But... Boss! What about our team?" asked Tony as he was in a panic and racking his brains to find a way to convince Gibbs so he would forbid Ziva from leaving. "We can do okay without McGee: another computer tech will be easy to find, there's a basement full of geeks at NCIS dying to work for a team like ours so we'll just have to pick one at random. But Ninja Girl? We won't find another Agent of her caliber anytime soon and in the meantime, our crime-solving rate will take a nosedive – not to forget we have to do without Abby at the Lab, now!"

"Another computer tech will be easy to find, you say? Have you forgotten already the unanimous refusal from the Cyber Crimes' guys to work for us during the whole duration of McGee's stay in Afghanistan?" shot Gibbs back.

Tim remembered his conversation with Tony via MTAC, and how the Senior Agent had tried to make him believe that they were doing fine without him and have not needed to ask for the services of another computer tech. McGee had seen right through this lie as he was quite aware of the Cyber Crimes' people resentment towards Tony and Gibbs (nicknamed _'DiJerk'_ and _'The dinosaur'_ respectively) because of their hatred for technology and tendencies to torment intelligent persons. Some of the Cyber Crimes' guys were good friends of Tim's and he often exchanged e-mails with them, retelling how it was to work for Gibbs – much to his friends' consternation.

"So that's it, then? You're letting Probie walk away with the girl and the glory?" said an angry Tony

"The _"girl"_ has a name, Tony, and it's dangerous to disrespect her!" interjected McGee.

"I damn well know her name's Ziva, Pretentious Probie!" shot DiNozzo back, his eyes full of venom. The green-eyed monster was rearing its head and things were going to get ugly. "But if you think you can destroy our team by taking away Ziva, then you're gravely mistaken: Ziva's _**mine**_ and she's staying in DC with me, do you hear?"

"_**Yours**_? What do you mean?"

"I'm Senior Agent, and only I have the right to courtship Ziva! I've been flirting with her for years, the whole bullpen can testify; we're kindred spirits in the field and she's the best partner I've ever had since Kate. She's smart and sharp, with a top-model body to boot and a real talent for undercover missions and you really thought I'd let you rip her away from me? No way in Hell!"

Tony turned his attention towards Ziva, who was standing in front of him with a furious expression on her face.

"C'mon, Zee-vah, cut out that nonsense about having a relationship with Probie and come back to the bullpen with me – you cannot reasonably consider destroying your future by getting involved with McBigHead! There always has been a romance between us; it is useless to deny it. Even if it crosses me that you had a little fun with McLame between the sheets, I'm willing to forget all about it. Abby did the same thing too, but she quickly grew bored with him so the same thing will happen to you as well. He's too dull and goody-goody to be of any interest to you! Let McGoogle leave the ship like the proverbial rat, who cares? As long as you and I work together, we'll still be the best team of NCIS and when I'm Team Leader, you will be my Senior Field Agent – and even further, since Gibbs is cancelling his bothersome Rule no. 12. We'll be terrific together, a real-life Dynamic Duo!"

_**POW!**_

A yelp of pain escaped from Tony's lips after Ziva punched him on the nose. She had promised her _ahouve_ to not murder the Senior Agent but she simply could not let the man to pour a torrent of absurdities and insults without doing anything!

Jet grinned at the sight of the blood running from Tony's nostrils: finally, they were getting somewhere! But Tim, ever the gentleman, rushed to the bathroom for a clean towel to use as a compress for the damaged nose.

"Ow! Ow! Ow! Why did you do that, Ziver?" protested Tony, holding his face with both hands while Gibbs helped him to the nearest chair – this time, the dog did not raise any objections.

"I've told you to stop your insults towards my man. You wouldn't; and you wonder why I punched you?"

"But..."

"Tim is **my** man. I love **him**. He loves **me**. We are going to build a life **together**, far from DC, with real professionals as colleagues instead of a loudmouthed jerk and a Goth crybaby. And nobody, not even Gibbs, will stop us. _Do you understand?_"

DiNozzo blindly grabbed the towel to press it tightly against his nose and stop the flood of blood, hoping the blow had not damaged his perfect profile. Ziva did not hit hard, but good!

"What Ziva is trying to tell you – if you are finally willing to listen, DiNozzo – is that the love we share is true," said Tim with a sigh. This confrontation was tedious and it was too bad Tony had to be socked on the nose to keep his mouth under control. "This is not a whim, or an attempt to make you jealous out of a petty revenge, or a pretentious move from my part by thinking that I'm the new NCIS' star and I can have any woman I want. Ziva and I are in love, and we're leaving – which should make you happy."

"HAPPY? How can I be happy if my partner leaves?" exclaimed DiNozzo.

"_Both_ your partners," corrected Gibbs.

"It will give you the opportunity to work with other people and to learn from them, instead of giving them a hard time because of their education or simply because you don't like the way they look. As Senior Agent, you ought to see the qualities of your subordinates and help them in developing their full potential without resorting to sarcasms, bodily harms and insults. You have the duty to look after their health and safety while investigating cases, instead of deliberately placing them in grave danger _"just for fun"_ or to put yourself on a pedestal. Junior Agents don't need an odious Big-Brother-wannabe to learn the ropes; they shouldn't have to fear being ridiculed or wrongly accused within the bullpen; they shouldn't be deprived of their lunches after their Senior Agent has tricked them in throwing good food away, so they'd spend the rest of the day running on empty. And Junior Agents should not be calumniated or outmaneuvered by their direct superiors, the very people they are supposed to trust with their lives. You've often boasted about being a big brother to us, Tony, but how can you ever pretend to that title when you've done nothing but lying to my face for years?"

"Probie..."

"You don't have a clue about what is it to be a big brother, Tony – and it doesn't only come from the fact you were an only child. You could have _learned to care_ simply by giving a bit of your time to others like mentoring a group of kids, helping the needy or even organize one of NCIS' social activities. But your insecurities prevented you to do so, because participating to an event implicates to _share the glory_ with other participants, and that's more than you can bear. The very idea of not being Superstar in something terrorizes you and you'll do anything to hog the limelight– even resorting to lying, cheating and betraying, pushing everyone away so you'll keep the glory to yourself, like a vainglorious movie star. Do you really think that's the way for big brothers to behave, DiNozzo? Do you really think older kids have the right to kick down their younger siblings, both at home and in public, simply out of fear of being bested by them one day?"

A sulking silence followed Tim's words; Tony feigned to be preoccupied only by his nose and the towel pressed against it: luckily, the blood had stopped flowing.

"And don't give me any of your clichés such as _"Only the strong survives"_ or _"My way or the highway," _continued Tim. "Being in charge doesn't give you the right to tyrannize your entourage or to show off your accomplishments. That's something I've learned in Afghanistan under the command of a very good man, who knew how to get the best of his Marines without making their lives a living Hell. How? It was simple: he had the utmost confidence in them and they were treated as human beings instead of whipping boys. His leadership was based on that quote from General Patton: "_"__Never tell people how to do things. Tell them what to do and they will surprise you with their ingenuity_". And last but not the least, he didn't snob learned persons out of spite for not having big brains: quite the contrary, he welcomed them as he knew knowledge is the key to success."

"Yeah, right. So the guy was a military saint and you were his disciple?"

McGee let out a sigh: "No Tony, he wasn't a saint. He was a man who knew how to lead his men and he did a fine good job doing it. Just be true to yourself for once, and consider your leadership so far: has it been a success? Honest answer: no. I'm leaving the team because I got fed up with your attitude; Ziva is leaving as well; Abby benefited from your complicity to play her dirty tricks and it has led her to a prison cell. No other computer tech wants to work with you; the Junior Agents and the probationers avoid you like the plague. If you don't change your ways, you'll be known as _"the Team Leader without a team"_ and I sincerely doubt your career at NCIS will get a big boost from it."

Tony looked above the towel and saw the disappointment in Gibbs' eyes, Ziva's angry face and McGee looking at him with a mix of compassion and firmness – plus the pooch still casting him dirty looks. Then, the ex-Mossad grabbed the wooden case on the coffee table and said:

"By the way, Tony – about that _"coward"_ label you slapped on Tim's forehead..."

Ziva opened the case, and Tony's eyes widened at the sight of its contents.

"...Do you really think a coward would have earned this?" asked the young woman with a severe expression on her beautiful face.

Tony remained silent, too floored by the items resting on the dark red velvet covering the inside of the box: displayed in all its shining beauty was the Presidential Medal of Freedom with ribbon, miniature medal pendant and lapel badge. A metal plaque had been inserted inside the box's lid with the engraved caption _"Awarded to Federal Agent Timothy McGee"_ with the date and place of the event.

"Tim was at the White House this afternoon, and the President of the United States himself awarded him with this medal for all the work he has done in Afghanistan – from designing a computer program to having captured terrorists. And you still think he's unworthy of our respect?" asked Ziva.

The Senior Agent did not reply. Instead, he threw away the bloodied towel, stood up and walked out of Tim's flat in long strides, as if he could not bear to stay there any longer. He opened wide the door and nearly collided with a man in blue overalls who was standing on the threshold, holding a toolbox in one hand and a piece of paper in another.

Tony never stopped; he fled in the hallway and jumped inside the lift's cabin without a backward glance. He pressed on a button and the metallic doors closed on his retreating form.

Jet barked at the sight of the newcomer. Another intruder? This day was really getting long!

"Excuse me, but you are?" asked Tim while restraining Jet by his collar.

"Er.. Are you Mr. McGee? I'm Harry Waller, the locksmith. You called about a damaged front lock?"

TBC...


	101. A conclusion

**Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.**

**Author's notes:**

- Here it is! The last chapter! Again, a huge THANK YOU to all my marvelous readers and reviewers for their steadfast weekly support. My best wishes for a wonderful new year 2015 to all of you!

- The Biblical quotation is from Leviticus 16:8(from Wikipedia).

- Details about transporting pets come from the American Airlines' website.

**- **John Logie Baird (1888–1946) was a Scottish engineer, innovator and inventor of the world's first mechanical television (from Wikipedia).

- To Momcat: _Bonne année_ to you too! I'm glad you have a wonderful time in Paris for the New Year, even if it was crowded on the Champs Elysées.

- To MarkyV: thank you for your message! Hope you will like this new chapter.

- To Guest: Gibbs and Tim have made up but they still have a long way to go before being fully reconciled.

- To Guest: thank you! Happy new year to you too!

- To RedDragen: the holidays have been fine and I hope you have enjoyed yours as well.

- To Jeika: I'm glad you've enjoyed last chapter so much!

- To Guest: you are right, most fanfics are not finished but this one will be.

- To Ine: Danke schön! It's too bad Tony had to be punched to finally stop his taunts but he has never learned to use his brains.

- To None: you are right, Tony won't shed his 'frat boy' personae over one punch on the nose – he'll need a hundred more of them to finally become an adult!

- To mark gibbs: thank you for your review! Tim certainly deserves another reward but he's too modest to accept it.

- To Guest: here's the new chapter, and I hope you'll like it as well.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 100: A conclusion<strong>

_Three weeks later, at the Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport, Saturday morning…_

Tim sighed in contentment as he watched the flood of travelers coming and going throughout the hallways of the airport while sitting on one of the plastic chairs of the terminal, patiently waiting for the call announcing the boarding of an American Airlines' flight for Los Angeles. It could sound strange that the young man was resting as he watched the usual hustle and bustle of an airport – travelers running in every direction while dragging suitcases behind them or pushing small mountains of luggage piled on trolleys; airplanes hostesses and stewards calmly walking towards their desks; cleaning staff emptying wastebaskets and mopping floors; technicians carrying toolboxes; and security people keeping a sharp lookout on the crowd, ready for any sign of trouble. But a busy airport was an oasis of tranquility compared to the events that had occurred in Tim's life lately.

Of course, the main one had been magnificent Ziva becoming his sweetheart! Tim turned his head towards the young woman seated next to him; her carry-on luggage was nestled between her feet and she was reading attentively a brand-new _"Los Angeles"_ guide book. Ziva had never been on the West Coast and she did not know much about the metropolitan city of Southern California, apart from the dream world of Hollywood and places popularized in TV shows such as _'Beverly Hills, 90210'_ which she enjoyed watching in Israel, on Hot 3 Channel. Ziva was pretty excited at the thought of living in such a beautiful city with her _ahouve_ but, at the same time, she was quite aware of the difficulties ahead of them, one being getting familiarized with a new area and topography as soon as possible. So the ex-Mossad had started learning by heart the main streets and neighborhoods. She impressed Tim so much by her thoroughness in doing her homework that they would sometimes recite LA's street names while making love. Ziva called it _'Sexy topography'_ and it had become one of their favorite games in bed.

Jet was here too, lying on the ground next to his master; Tim had taken him for a little session at the animal relief area near the Metro Station entrance and the dog was trying to have a little doze in spite of the constant noise in the airport's hallways. He was wearing his best collar for travelling and also his leash as a security measure, like every time his master would take him in a crowded place. The dog had understood big changes were going to happen, especially after the day he had come home from his walk with "Ma-hike" to see all the furniture had been taken away, including his bed! It had been a distressing moment but "Teem" had gathered his pet in his arms and told him they were going to live in a new territory with "Zee-va", with lots of sun and an ocean (Jet had loved this last detail: his master had taken him to a trip to the beach once and the dog had the time of his life!). So after a moment, Jet had calmed down after he had been reassured "Teem" was not going to abandon him: quite the contrary, his favorite human was taking him to a new territory, far away from "A-bee" and "To-nee" and other bothersome intruders, where the dog would have a lot more room to play. And then, "Teem" and "Zee-va" would have younglings and Jet would protect them from enemies as everyone knew German Shepherds were very good guard dogs – in fact, Jet already pitied the fool who would even dare trying to harm the little ones: it would end up with a multi-perforated posterior!

Tim absently toyed with the leash between his hands, remembering his former flat emptied of all contents: it had felt strange walking around those big boxes, where the slightest noise would reverberate against the bare walls as there were no framed pictures, no furniture to absorb the sounds. Looking at the stripped flat had felt like mourning, as the place had played a major part in Tim's life for years and he had many good souvenirs in it – but also spoiled by a few major bad ones, like Tony's home invasion games, Nick Miller stealing his money or Abby trying to grab Jet. The front door's lock had been quickly repaired thanks to Harry Wallen but Tim had never been able to sleep soundly in his flat after that latest incident, in spite of Ziva's presence and Jet's watchfulness. So he had kept the Dark Dove under his bed until the day he had to vacate the premises and he had given the keys back to Mrs. Miller with mixed feelings of sadness and relief. He had said his goodbyes to Mrs. Bergman, to Mr. Roman, to Mrs. Matthews and they were quite sorry to lose such a nice neighbor. Tim had spent his last night in DC in a motel with Ziva but he had not been able to sleep a wink, too excited by the prospect of a new life with his lady-love under the Californian sun. It was definitively time for Tim to move on!

They had arrived at the Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport three hours before the departure of their plane, since traveling with Jet would require extra time for the check-in at the ticket counter. Tim had produced a valid health certificate from Dr. Zipoli, the vet, and he had brought a kennel of a size conform to the airline's regulations. He had completed a check-list with an agent to make sure everything was done for the safety of his pet during the flight: were food and water dishes accessible without opening the kennel; when was the last time Jet had been fed and could he sit or rest comfortably inside the kennel? Tim had also brought Jet's blanket and his favorite chew toy to keep him company during the flight. It felt a bit odd to have his dog considered as "checked luggage" since Jet was way more than this: he was a friend, a trusted companion and a watchful guardian! But alas, airline companies could not take those feelings into consideration when it came to transporting pets.

Once the paperwork for Jet had been completed and the luggage registered, the young couple was told they had to wait for the call for customs and security before they would be guided to the boarding room. Tim would have to entrust Jet to the care of the staff, and the dog would be taken away in his kennel to be boarded in the aircraft's cargo compartments, while his master and new mistress would take their seats in the cabin. Doubtless Jet would miss his favorite human terribly but pets were not to be released from their kennels until the plane would touch the ground of the Los Angeles International Airport.

"Ziva?"

"Yes?" asked the young woman, raising her head from her book.

"_Ani ohev otach."_

Ziva smiled, and then kissed McGee before whispering: "_Ani ohevet otcha_."

"Ziva-heart, words cannot describe how happy I am to be in this airport, with you."

"Likewise, _otsar chély_ (my treasure). Being with you feels like a miracle and I am so happy we will live this new adventure together."

"I hope you'll like working with Hetty Lange. She has quite a way in running her teams so we'd better be prepared for a shock."

"I've never seen her, nor talk with her on the phone. You've met her once during your time in LA with Gibbs, haven't you?"

"That's right," answered Tim, not wanting to go into details about this particular mission. Gibbs and him were investigating the murder of a Marine and unearthed a terrorist sleeper cell, when their inquest got greatly complicated by the presence in LA of Mossad officer Michael Rivkin, Ziva's former boyfriend. Matters escalated to culminate in a terrible crisis, after Ziva was left in Israel by Gibbs and later captured in Somalia by Saleem Ulman.

"Could you give me a description of her?"

"Well, physically she's completely different from Gibbs: apart the fact she's a woman, Hetty is also smaller and thinner, a petite woman with straight brown hair and glasses. She enjoys drinking tea; she speaks several languages; she has a degree in Fine Arts and she has published several books, plus she's a graduate from an Haute Couture school in Paris – but don't let her size fools you. She has taken down men twice her height; she's a crack shot, an accomplished athlete, a mountaineer and she can be as lethal as a rattlesnake whenever one of her agents is in danger. Any fool underestimating her or standing on her way gets removed without a backward glance, and she is not impressed by grades or titles."

"I already like her!" exclaimed Ziva.

"Yes, well I hope we won't start on the wrong foot with Hetty or that intelligence analyst, Eric Beale…" said Tim, voicing out loud his main concern about their future jobs. "Both of them were pretty found of Abby the time I met them and Eric was even a little jealous of me, since I was the lucky winner of Abby's affections. The poor guy had no clue that being Abby's so-called 'boyfriend' is nothing but a suffocating trap."

"Director Vance must have told Hetty what has happened with Abby, and the reasons why we are going to work in LA," reasoned Ziva. "From what you're saying, Hetty doesn't suffer fools and she wouldn't hold a grudge against you from having unmasked a pathological liar with a _"look-at-me"_ attitude. As for the rest of the team, well, Hetty is supposed to inform them of our reasons for having left DC, right?"

"You're probably right, _néhédérète_. Hetty is a down-to-Earth leader and will certainly not protect a dishonest employee who turns on the waterworks at will and wears T-shirts with the caption: _"I'm a fragile creature under this Goth outfit so don't brusque me, or I'll tell Gibbs!"_. Still, it might be difficult with Eric Beale, since he admired Abby very much and resented me for apparently having her affection, but we're both computer techs so I'm certain we'll find a common ground. Besides, the guys of the LA office are real professionals – not the kind to judge a person on gossips and hearsays."

"I still have a hard time believing Abby has spied on us, and then told about our relationship to Vance in the hopes it would make him 'forget' about her attempting dog-napping," said Ziva, her eyes hardening like obsidian stones. "I've always thought she wasn't especially courageous, but this denunciation was downright cowardice!"

"Like I've said to Gibbs, placing the blame on someone else's shoulders has been Abby's game for years – an attitude based by the 'favorite' status Gibbs has granted her. Since she couldn't do anything wrong, then the guilty party was fatally somebody else and most of the time it was me, the convenient scapegoat."

"A goat escaped?"

That made Tim smile: "Not exactly, _yafa chély _Ziva (my beautiful Ziva). I meant somebody who is blamed instead of the guilty one or ones. It's from the Bible, when a goat symbolically bearing the sins of the Israelites is sent away in the desert to perish, as part of the ceremonies of the Day of Atonement."

"Azazel!" exclaimed Ziva. "_"__And Aaron shall cast lots over the two goats, one lot for the Lord and the other lot for Azazel""._

"That's correct and, over the centuries, the word "scapegoat" in the English language evolved to evoke an innocent person being punished for the deeds of others. Of course, it never came to Abby's mind to tell Gibbs about her imprudence with Mawher, or in Mexico, or when she pressured me in using the MTAC room so a little boy could speak to his mother deployed in Iraq for Christmas, or during the countless examples she left me holding the bag. Each and every time Gibbs blamed me and Tony never lifted a finger to correct the situation; then again, I wasn't important enough to defend. It's a Probie's role to be blamed in lieu of others, to quote Tony!"

Ziva grabbed Tim's hand and squeezed it: "Tony was **wrong**, _ahouve_, just like Gibbs was, and Abby, and I have to admit it, even me. Your forgiveness humbles me and you're the only reason I've become a good woman and a decent human being: otherwise, I would have remained a harsh, embittered person and sometimes I wonder what I've done in my life to deserve you – certainly not for my past good actions!"

This declaration made Tim blush a deep red: "How about you being a splendid woman with lots of love to give and so much energy you could sell it, my Ziva?"

A thorough kiss followed those words, and only the need for air forced McGee and Ziva to regretfully separate their mouths after a long moment. The kiss made a few passersby chuckle in delight while a few women sighed in envy and a man gave Tim a knowing grin. Apparently, the handsome couple and their canine companion was the object of admiration amongst the crowd of travelers and their kiss had caused a few hearts to flutter. Ziva, unaccustomed to being the center of attention (it was against her military training), tried to hide her face behind her guide book and gave Tim a smile – the one that made her special man melt like butter in a hot frying pan.

"I'm so happy Director Vance has agreed to let us go on the same plane, _ahouve_. It would have been very hard for me to remain behind in DC and having to wait extra weeks before we could be together again in LA."

"I suspect he did it also for practical reasons, beauteous!" answered McGee with a chuckle. "Sending away two persons in the same flight is easier on the paperwork, not to forget it lowers the costs and Vance is pretty uptight about budget. He was grateful about the deal we've made with the _Coast-to-Coast _moving company about sharing a container for our stuff and also for having taken plane tickets at reasonable prices, including a good traveling plan for Jet. It was a stroke of luck you've been able to leave your flat at such a short notice, too!"

"It was a furnished apartment, _ahouve_ so I didn't have to worry about furniture like you were. My landlord won't have any trouble renting the flat, since he has a waiting list as long as my arm. And I had a lot less books and stuff than you had; my main luggage was my kitchen utensils and my collection of knives. Your movers took away the kitchen gear but I had a hard time leaving the knives locked up in my suitcase! Then again, even a Federal Agent would find it difficult to explain why she's travelling with a cabin bag full of blades."

"Don't I know it," said Tim with a sigh, thinking of the Dark Dove. He had to leave it in his suitcase too, wrapped in a new pair of socks and he was missing the reassuring presence of the blade under his shirt, close to his heart. But Ziva was right: Federal Agents were allowed to keep their service weapons while traveling by planes but knives… that was another story. So they had both chosen to keep their favorite weapons under lock and key in their suitcases, which would be later locked up in the luggage compartment, in order to avoid embarrassing questions with the airport's security staff.

"I think Vance also understood you couldn't work with Tony anymore," added McGee. "After he has learned of that major scene that had happened at my flat with Abby, Gibbs and then Tony, the Director knew you wouldn't be able to keep your cool around Tony and it probably would have ended with another nose-punching session – this time right in the middle of the bullpen, and in front of witnesses."

"Nose-punching, knife-throwing, paperclip-flying amongst many other things I had in mind for him," said Ziva with a frown, remembering the massacre of equipment she had committed in the morgue, months ago.

"This is the reason why Vance pulled a few strings to accelerate your transfer to LA with me, for keep the peace inside the bullpen. Tony's motor-mouth is impossible to stop and Gibbs would have ended up with a broken arm from repeated head-slaps in an attempt to shut him up! But Tony is too furious about many things – you and I in love, our departure for LA, even the medal – to keep quiet; you would have endure snide comments, sarcasms and even accusations all day long, until you'd crack and strangle him with his own tie before Gibbs could stop you. You'd have ended up arrested for having assaulted a federal agent, and in the end Tony would have won by separating us. One of the main conditions for him to keep his pseudo-title of _"NCIS' Best Agent"_ is for you to remain his partner at all costs, as he damn well knows no other agent wants to work with him. His belittling campaign was an effort to discourage you from loving me, and so you'd remain by his side like an obedient soldier."

"Discouraging **me** from loving **you**? Not a chance!" exclaimed Ziva before giving Tim a toe-curling kiss. This time, passers-by laughed out loud and Jet let out a growl: what were those humans doing, making noises when his master and new mistress were licking each other's mouths? They should get their own mates and mind their own businesses!

A long moment passed before Tim could breathe again, and then he kissed Ziva lightly on the nose – prompting a chuckle from the ex-Mossad. She had not felt such an intense happiness since she had been a carefree little girl and she loved Tim even more for it! Then, her expression turned serious again as she said:

"I'm still pretty crossed at Tony for all the horrible things he has said in your own home, from insulting Jet to call you a coward and an incapable. How could he be so rude, so inconsiderate? How can he think being a Senior Agent gives him permission to slander one of his colleagues and never having to answer for his actions?"

"Tony is Gibbs' best student," replied Tim with a sigh. "And Gibbs is a firm believer in walking over people before they'd walk over you. A very practical philosophy, in where no one stands in your way but there's a heavy price to pay: you remain alone for the rest of your life. Gibbs has scared off almost everybody in his entourage, and Tony will wake up one day realizing his stream of girlfriends has dried out and he hasn't made a real friend in the whole world."

"What an awful way to life your life… And to think I've believed the same thing for years! I'm so grateful to you for having showed me a better way, _ahouve_."

"And I'm very grateful to you for having accepted me as I am, _néhédérète_," replied McGee, intertwining his fingers with Ziva's.

A moment of silence followed, interrupted only by Jet shaking his head to chase away an inopportune fly. Then Ziva asked:

"_Ahava chély_ (my love), I've meant to ask… What is going to happen about Abby burglarizing your home? Will you have to come back to DC to testify for the trial?"

"No, dearest. According to Mr. Rosetti, my attorney, Abby's case is a slam dunk – meaning she doesn't have a chance of winning. Between her being caught on the act, Mrs. Bergman's testimony and the statements from the two cops, plus the damages done to the front door's lock, Abby will not be able to deny the charges against her. I've filed up all the paperwork Mr. Weber, from the insurance company, has sent me and I have Mr. Waller's bill as proof of damages done to my door. Mr. Rosetti told me he will be able to handle the trial without needing me in court, just like he did with Nick Miller's, and he'll ask for the maximum penalty against Abby."

"Isn't he worried about Abby accusing you of animal cruelty to justify her actions, like she has done many times in the past? She could plead her attempted dog-napping was a self-imposed rescue mission to save that poor, innocent creature from Evil You."

"Mr. Rosetti has considered it too, so he asked Dr. Zipoli, the vet, for Jet's medical records. He will prove to the judge that Jet is a perfectly healthy dog, with all the vaccinations and mandatory examinations done, without a bruise or a broken bone in his body. Abby's accusations of mistreatment are based only on figments of her imagination (not exactly a receivable proof) and the fact I had to shoot Jet while investigating a murder (NCIS' cases are not to be discussed in a courthouse, unless Abby wants to be jailed for treason). She doesn't have a leg to stand on for this trial and she'll probably receive a six-month long sentence in jail."

"But what do Abby's legs have to do with…?"

"I mean, she doesn't have a chance to confuse the issue; she will do prison time, and after her release she will have a hard time finding a new job with a criminal record."

"Can't say I pity her but I worry about her resourcefulness," said Ziva. "Abby has lots of friends or, should I say, idiots who would give her everything to earn her devotion. Gibbs said that, after he had refused to bail her out, Abby contacted her current boyfriend and he posted bail right after the hearing the next morning – a kid barely of legal age, who pretends to be a rebel to annoy his rich family."

"Arthur Varga? Yeah, Mr. Rosetti saw him at the hearing. That kid calls himself "Ace" but the only thing he has ever managed to do in his life is to pour money into drug dealers' pockets. It's terrible to see someone so young wasting his life with illegal chemicals and fake friends who will bleed him dry before throwing him away like an oily old rag. I wish I could do something for him…"

"That's your big heart talking again, _ahava chély_! But I'm afraid that kid won't learn anything until Abby dumps him once she'll be finished with him to move for her next meal ticket, since Gibbs has refused to help her. But Abby has better not get any ideas of avenging herself on you by hiring some kind of thug, otherwise… _**I won't answer for my actions!**_" added Ziva with a ferocious gleam in her eyes and McGee felt a shiver crawl up his spine. There were no doubts in his mind about Ziva's determination to turn a hired hand – and his backer – into dog food if they ever try to conspire against her special man.

"That's highly unlikely to happen, dearest. Abby is a done deal: she's broke, her career is in shambles and she won't be able to leech off her friends forever. She'll never have the means to ask for the services of a hired gun and something tells me Vance plans to keep an eye on her, in case Abby ever gets the funny idea of selling information about NCIS and its secrets to a journalist wanting to write a book about federal agencies; if she ever tries that, she'll find herself in prison and for a longer sentence than for an attempted burglary."

"You must be happy to leave all this behind you, _ahouve_!" said Ziva. The past few months had been hard for the young man and this incident with Abby had not improved anything.

Tim sighed and collected the young woman in his arms; Ziva did not know the whole truth – in fact, he had hidden from her the tedious phone call he had received from his mother the day after the ceremony at the White House. McGee had been at his flat, putting his DVD collection in card boxes while the ex-Mossad was working at NCIS. Then, the phone had rung…

_(Flashback)_

"_Hello?"_

"_Tim? It's your mother! What have you done to your father?"_

_The young man had sighed before deposing the ultimate edition of the 'Lord of the Rings' DVDs on the coffee table before telling Mrs. McGee:_

"_Hello to you too, Mom. How have you been since my return from Afghanistan?"_

"_No need to be cheeky, young man! I've asked you a question and I want a straight answer about what you've done to your father."_

"_Well, here's your answer, Mom: nothing."_

"_Nothing?! How can you say that? Your father went to an event at the White House yesterday and came back in such a state he has been drinking non-stop ever since! He has emptied all the bottles of the liquor cabinet and he has just left home to buy more alcohol, even if he's hardly in any condition to drive! And he said you were at the White House, as well!"_

"_That's correct."_

"_So what did you say to upset him so much?"_

"_You should know by now that nothing I can say can bother Dad in the slightest, Mom. About other people can say, now, that's another matter."_

"_For God's sakes, Tim, what on Earth are you talking about?"_

"_Mom, if you had given up on that mindless groupie's personality you've adopted since your marriage, you'd have realized long ago that Dad is far from the immaculate Hero of the US Navy he pretends to be. He's a bully, a coward to the core and he has resented me from Day One for being cleverer than he is – mind you, he also resents Penny for the same reasons. But his bullying was not limited to home, since he's the most detested commander of the Navy. His men hate his guts; his junior officers avoid him like the plague and the other high-rankers laugh behind his back. Have you ever wondered why Dad has been granted a bureaucratic position after that incident aboard the USS _Endeavour_, years ago? That's because it's the only place where he cannot do damages to the Navy until he'll retire, much to everyone's relief."_

"_Tim! How dare you speak like that about your father! He…"_

"_It's the truth, Mom. Dad has alienated everybody in his life apart from you, but I won't try to convince you of this fact since it would be a waste of time. Bottom line is, I went to the White House because I was invited to this event; in fact, I was the guest of honor."_

"_WHAT?"_

"_I was awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom by the President of the United States himself, in front of Dad and other distinguished members of the armed forces, including Director Vance of the NCIS and the man I've worked with in Afghanistan."_

"_WHAT?"_

"_This medal was a reward for the work I've done abroad, and also for the capture of a group of terrorists who held me captive until I overpowered them."_

"_WHAT?"_

"_I'll e-mail you the official photo of the ceremony, if you wish to get a souvenir. But this even has shocked Dad to the core, since watching his useless son being awarded by the President was more than he could bear. Of course, his expulsion from the Oval Office for having slandered me in public certainly didn't help…"_

"_WHAT?"_

"_As a result for my hard work, Director Vance has me transferred to LA, where I will work with one of NCIS' best teams. Meaning I will leave DC within a few weeks…"_

"_WHAT?"_

"_Also, someone will come to California with me: the love of my life, Federal Agent Ziva David. Oh, you and Dad know her – she's the dark-haired beauty who has scared you off with her blades during your unwelcome visit to NCIS after I left the States; Director Vance has told me all about it and he certainly wasn't pleased by you and Dad."_

"_WHAT? That horrible woman is your girlfriend?"_

"_She's my _**dear**_ friend, yes."_

"_But… But you can't have her as your girlfriend! She's Jewish!"_

"_So?" had asked Tim, not liking the way this conversation was going._

"_Your father and I will never accept her!"_

"_For your information, I don't really care about your opinion or Dad's. I love Ziva, I will marry her and if you ever want to meet your grandchildren one day, you'll change your attitude towards Ziva… real fast."_

_A stunned silence followed Tim's words as Mrs. McGee had a hard time believing what she had just heard: her son had been rewarded by the President of the United States; Tim would move away and put thousands of miles between him and his parents; their child was involved with a dangerous woman, very handy with lethal weapons!_

"_Tim, you… You cannot leave us like this! We're your parents! We'll be heartbroken by your departure and…"_

"_Oh please, Mom, don't try emotional blackmail on me; other women better skilled than you in this field have tried and failed. Neither Dad nor you have ever bothered about me, my studies or my career at NCIS so why should you be upset about me living on the West Coast?"_

"_How can you say that? We were frantic of worry after having learned about you going to a war zone!"_

"_Actually, you were appalled at the thought I could become a hero, thus destroying Dad's permanent slanders about me being a coward; he'd have looked quite ridiculous in front of his men and no-one makes a fool of US Admiral Robert McGee – actually, Dad does this very well on his own, as he has proved it during the award ceremony and in front of the President."_

"_Tim…"_

"_And I'm having a hard time believing you about being worried for my safety abroad. Since my return, I've left you dozens of voicemails on your home phone and on both your cell phones, but none of you deigned to return my calls. So stop it with the concerned act, Mom; it really doesn't suit you."_

"_But…"_

"_As for Dad, please tell him that drowning his pride in alcohol and getting arrested for drunk driving won't help him whatsoever. His ego for surpasses his intelligence and he'll never be a great commanding officer, so the best thing for him is to stay in his office and keep his mouth shut. After he retires, he'll take you on a cruise around the world and you'll forget about your "dull-as-dishwater" son… That's how Dad called me right in front of my friends at MIT, once."_

"_Tim…"_

"_Good-bye, Mom. I'll forward you my new address in LA and you're welcome to visit me there whenever you want to… As long as you remember that I won't admit any hostility towards Ziva."_

_(End of flashback)_

"Here they are!" boomed a commanding voice, startling Tim out of his reverie.

"Indeed, Director. We have arrived just in time!" added the distinguished tone of an elderly gentleman from the British Isles.

"Yeah," added a laconic, gruff voice. Director Vance, Ducky and Gibbs had just arrived at the terminal, as they said they would come to the airport and bid the young couple farewell.

Tim's heart warmed at the sight and he got on his feet out of respect for Director Vance, and so did Ziva. Jet, sensing something was happening, sat up as he recognized the white-furred "Giiibz" and the very old male "Doo-ky" (the one that was not to be jumped at because of frail bones) coming towards them. However, he did not know the third human called "Dee-rec-tor Vanss" but "Teem" greeted the man with enthusiasm, so Jet refrained from barking too loud or licking hands. "Dee-rec-tor Vanss" had the aura of an alpha male and was to be treated with respect, so the dog opted for smelling the human's shoes and ankles to register his scent for future use.

"Whoa! Your dog seems to enjoy my shoes, McGee. Is he looking for a snack before boarding?" asked Vance with an amused smirk on his face.

"Not to worry, Director. Jet is just getting acquainted with you, and he'll be able to recognize you amongst hundreds of persons on our next meeting."

"Smart dog," said Vance. "So, is everything ready for your departure, lads?"

"It is, Sir. The moving company has already shipped off the bulk of our stuff and it will arrive in LA within two weeks. In the meantime, we'll live in a furnished two-room flat located in a good neighborhood, thanks to the list of available accommodations Pamela has provided by e-mail. It isn't far from NCIS' headquarters and it will be easy to rent a car before buying a new one, since I've sold my Porsche a few days ago and without regrets, too, as we'll need a more practical car in the future…"

Ziva discreetly squeezed Tim's hand!

"We have everything we need packed up in our suitcases: paperwork, clothes, LA maps and guides…"

"Not to forget guns, ammunitions, a first-aid kit and our knives," completed the ex-Mossad. "And Jet has proven to be a very good guard dog so he'll keep a sharp lookout on our stuff!"

The German shepherd finished his inspection of "Dee-rec-tor Vanss'" shoes to lick the young woman's hand, who answered by petting Jet on the head. Tim could not help but think about the house he would buy in LA, after Ziva had agreed to be his wife. It would be a nice house, not far from the beach, with a closed garden so Jet would be able to frolic under the sun for hours while his master and mistress were at work. A house with several bedrooms for the time when – and Tim's heart skipped a beat at the thought – a little one would come into their lives, followed by another, and then another…

"That's wonderful, my dears," said Ducky. "Please don't forget to take good care of your health in LA, since settling in a new environment can prove to be a bit upsetting for your organisms. You both are up to date with your vaccinations but remember to note the phone numbers of GPs, dentists, ophthalmologists and hospitals and to keep this information on you at all times – not to forget a veterinarian for your faithful four-legged companion."

"Will do, Ducky," said McGee with a smile.

"Agents McGee and David, Hetty Lange is expecting you in her office on Monday morning at 7:00 a.m. sharp," said Director Vance. "I've told her the full reasons of your transfer in California so there shouldn't be any misunderstandings – not even with Mr. Beale, the intelligence analyst – as you'll have to hit the ground running with Agents Callen and Hanna. There won't be any time to lose over petty matters and misunderstandings. After some hardcore training, Callen and Hanna take you out in the field for undercover missions, crime scene processing and interrogation of suspects for _the both of you_. No one on Team Callen is left behind in the bullpen, nor there are agents hogging the limelight to annoy the Hell of their co-workers. You are both **field** agents and you will work accordingly as such, are we clear?"

"Yes, Sir," said Tim and Ziva at unison, and Gibbs had the good grace to look embarrassed at the mention of leaving a team member behind since it was 'practical' to have a computer genius chained to a desk so he would provide information to the would-be Big Boys roaming down the streets.

"Good!"

"Director Vance, before we leave, may I talk to you for a minute in private?" asked Tim. Vance nodded and lead McGee a few paces away from Gibbs, Ducky and Ziva, who had to tug at Jet's leash to prevent the dog from following his master.

"What is it, Agent McGee?"

"I wanted to ask you, Sir… Do you know what happened to Amanda Drucker, the woman who had a major fall-out with Tony on Jimmy's wedding? I was sorry to hear about her woes and I kind of hoped a solution has been found for her."

"As a matter of fact, Agent McGee, Miss Drucker has been transferred to a new job in our office in Miami; I've been signing a lot of transfer paperwork, lately! After having calmed down from the scandal, she told me all about her tedious family situation and how it has all started from a calumny by Agent DiNozzo to the imprisonment of her brother for attempted murder. From her story, it was obvious her parents were holding her responsible for everything and took advantage of her guilt feelings to leech her out of her salary. So I sent Miss Drucker to greener pastures and hopefully the distance will put things into perspective, and help her in seeing through her parents' manipulative game."

"I'm glad to hear that, Sir. Amanda's brother is a jerk but she doesn't have to suffer the consequences of her minor indiscretion for the rest of her life. And Tony?"

Vance shrugged: "Agent DiNozzo is still demoted, and will remain until he'll finally see the light and realize his attitude is unworthy of a federal agent. Agent Gibbs has expressed the wish to retire so Agent DiNozzo will find himself working for a new Boss – someone who doesn't appreciate bullying and attention-seeking. How about you? Are you up for the challenge of working for Hetty Lange?"

Tim's eyes shone like magnificent emeralds.

"I'm ready, Sir. I will work to my full potential with Hetty Lange's team and to learn from my new colleagues."

"I don't doubt that for a minute, Agent McGee, but I'm more inclined to think they will learn from you and not the other way round. Hetty is quite impatient to meet the genius who has created CHRIS (yes, she knows all about it) and arrested one of Afghanistan's most wanted in his spare time. Did you know Farhad Wardak had been handed over to the Afghan authorities?"

"No, Sir. With all what happened, I've erased him from my mind."

"Yeah, well General Stephenson told me over the phone about Wardak's fate and it isn't pretty… He was found torn to pieces in a prison cell two days prior his hanging, probably by a mob paid by his victims' relatives. He must have regretted of not having died of starvation in that cavern!"

McGee remembered Wardak in the cavern, how he had stopped Butler from beating him up simply out of greed as he was worried the 'American Lord' would die before having a chance to demand a ransom from the United States' government. Stephenson had told him at ISAF about Farhad Wardak and his awful business of kidnapping, extortion and murder: his capture certainly improved the diplomatic relations between the US and Afghanistan but Tim, traumatized by Aimee's death and preoccupied with the new version of CHRIS, had not thought too much about the importance of Wardak's capture.

_Aimee…_

McGee had filed up a form at a florist's shop and a bouquet of flowers would be delivered every week on the doctor's grave at Arlington National Cemetery. Tim was sad he would not be able to pay his respects to Aimee each Sunday, as he had done since his return from abroad, but the flowers would silently express his love and sadness in his stead.

"Let's get back to the others, Agent McGee," said Vance, taking Tim by the arm and ushering him back to the group. Ziva was chatting away with Ducky, who was expressing Dr. and Mrs. Palmer's regrets for not being available to say good-bye (they were still honeymooning in Hawaii) while Gibbs remained quiet, hiding his emotion under his usual stern face. Jet was looking puzzled, looking at "Teem" and "Dee-rec-tor Vanss" without understanding the reasons of them departing from the pack to come back a moment later. Human comportment was hard to comprehend, at times!

Then a woman's voice on the loudspeaker announced the boarding for the American Airlines' flight for Los Angeles International Airport at Terminal 3.

"That's our call," said Tim.

"Well, we'll take our leave now, as we have to go back to the office," said Vance with a voice a bit less commanding than usual. "Agent McGee, I trust you with Agent David's safety – and same to you, Agent David. Once your time in LA is over I expect the both of you in my office to build the best team DC has ever seen, am I clear?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Oh, my dears, it's so hard to see you leave!" exclaimed Ducky. "Please keep me posted about your life in _"__The Town of Our Lady the Queen of the Angels of the __Porciúncula River__"_, that's Los Angeles' full name. And if you need medical advice or simply a sympathetic ear, feel free to call me anytime. You have my phone number and I'll be delighted to speak to you via Skype. John Logie Baird certainly didn't imagine his invention would allow people to talk to each other from the other side of the world, after he gave in 1925 the first public demonstration of televised silhouette images in motion! Baird was Scottish, did you know that?"

"No, Ducky," said Ziva with a sad smile. She would miss the old man's history lessons!

"Anyway, I'm pretty handy with Skype so don't be shy in giving me a call. Jethro has even recently acquired a laptop computer and a Skype account, if you can believe that!"

"Oh yes, very easily," said Tim, locking eyes with the ex-Marine.

The second call for the LAX airport was heard over the loudspeaker.

"We should go, as boarding Jet in the kennel will take some time."

Tim and Ziva shook hands with Vance and spontaneously hugged Ducky, who had a hard time hiding his tears behind the misted glass of his spectacles. Then Ziva shook hands with Gibbs, who kissed her cheek and muttered _"Good luck, kid"_ before turning his attention back to McGee.

"Tim…"

"Gibbs…"

"Oh, to Hell with it!" exclaimed the ex-Marine, and he grabbed McGee to hold him against his chest. After a few heartbeats, Tim returned the embrace and felt something wet pressed against his face – it was a tear escaping from Gibbs' sapphires to roll on his cheek. Then the silver-haired man turned his head slightly to whisper in Tim's ear:

"I don't want to lose you again, son."

Tim's vision got blurred at those words, but he managed to reply in a calm voice:

"You won't lose me, Gibbs. I still love you."

A bone-crushing hug followed those words, and then Gibbs reluctantly freed McGee; he had to let his youngest go so Tim would finally complete his training and become the future Director of NCIS in DC, but it was so damn hard to see his baby go away. At least, this time Gibbs had been able to properly say good-bye; he had not gotten into a brawl with MPs and soldiers, like he had done at Base Andrews!

"Let's go, _ahouve_."

"You're right, _néhédérète_."

With a last smile to Vance, Ducky and Gibbs, Tim and Ziva grabbed their carry-on bags and Jet's leash, and headed for Terminal 3 with the hopes of a new job, a new team and a new life. Vance nodded in the direction of the young couple and then signaled to Ducky and Gibbs to follow him to the parking lot. The elderly M.E. and the ex-Marine casted one last glance at the retreating forms of their children before following the agency's director, dragging as if each of their feet weighted a ton each.

"_Ani ohev otach,_ Ziva-heart," said a moved McGee, holding the young woman's hand.

"_Ani ohevet otcha_, Tim," answered Ziva as she squeezed Tim's hand back – tightly.

They crossed the gate of the American Airlines' flight to LA, unaware of the presence of a balding man with piercing eyes and a dangerous smile, who was faking to be engrossed by the lecture of a magazine at a newsstand.

"Well, well! It seems the butterfly with brightly-colored wings and the damselfly with the sharp sting are going to the West Coast together…" muttered the man between his teeth.

Trent Kort turned around, just in time to see Tim and Ziva melting into the crowd of travelers.

"Godspeed, butterfly and damselfly!"

THE END!


End file.
